LIBRARY"^ 

UNlVtRtilTY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 
>*.-  •" 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 

Douglas   Warren 


A   Daughter  of  Two  Nations 


•I 

"She  touched  her  beautiful  gown."    Page  293, 


A  Daughter  of  Two 
Nations 


ELLA  GALE  McCLELLAND 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  AND   COMPANY 
1897 


COPYRIGHT 

BY  A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 
A.  D.  1897 


DEDICATED    TO    THE 
NATIONAL    SOCIETY    OF    THE    CHILDREN 

OF    THE 
AMERICAN    REVOLUTION 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"She    touched    her    beautiful 

gown,"  Frontispiece. 

"He  measured    his  length  on 

the  deck,"  -      Facing  page      32 

4  •'  The  wigs  will    get  thee,   so 

there!"  "         "        88 

"Break  it.    There  is  something 

in  it  for  thee,"  "         "      176 

"She  raised  her  hand  as  if  to 

keep  him  back,"  "         "     262 

"Oh,  Oak,  thou  hast  come!"          "         "      276 

"He  took  the  gray  bonnet  by 

the  sides,"        ...««««      306 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

CHAPTER  I 

"Olde  Ff rendses  wyth  newe  faces"  met 
as  they  neared  the  Tower  of  London, 
and  looked  about  for  a  finger-post  to 
direct  them  to  St.  Catherine's  Docks, 
and  there  it  was  in  plain  sight,  standing 
within  a  few  yards  of  the  Tower. 

Beneath  it  stood  the  vender  of  a  name 
less  toy — a  dried  pea,  loose  in  a  pill-box, 
which  was  fastened  to  a  horse-hair  and, 
on  being  violently  twirled,  sent  forth  a 
vibratory  hum,  which,  with  her  shriek 
ing  voice,  crying,  "Only  a  'a'-penny," 
seemed  to  vie  with  the  dirge-like  sound 
from  a  weather-beaten  sign-board,  sway 
ing  back  and  forth  on  its  rusty  hinges.  A 
maid  with  her  basket  was  calling  "New- 
laid  eggs;  eight  a  groat — crack  'em  and 
try  'em,"  and  her  rival  in  beauty  smiled 
9 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

into  the  faces  of  the  passers-by,  "Buy 
sweet  lavender?"  and  an  old  woman, 
carrying  a  sample  of  her  wares,  in  quaver 
ing  voice  asked,  "Have  a  fork  or  a  fire- 
shovel?" 

But  those  who  stood  together  around 
the  gang-plank  heeded  not  the  London 
cries  on  that  morning.  The  faces  of  the 
emigrants  were  pinched  and  drawn  with 
the  unmistakable  stamp  of  unrest.  Chil 
dren  clung  to  the  skirts  of  their  mothers^ 
while  the  mothers  in  turn  held  firmer  the 
children  pressed  to  their  breasts,  as  they 
noted  the  deepening  fog  on  the  land  and 
over  the  Thames.  The  growing  gloom 
of  the  stalwart  men  at  their  sides,  was 
plain  to  be  seen.  They  were  struggling 
to  conceal  the  tumult  of  their  thoughts, 
while  whispered  words  were  exchanged 
with  those  they  were  leaving  behind. 

A  young  Quakeress,  who  had  stood 
apart  from  the  rest,  followed  her  father 
up  the  gang-plank.  She  seemed  to  be 
the  last  passenger,  when,  at  an  angle  of 
the  wharf,  a  man,  leading  a  little  girl,  ap- 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

peared.  The  curious  bystanders  and 
weeping  friends  fell  back;  his  stately 
mien  bespoke  the  high-born.  Only  the 
vender  with  the  wooden  leg  and  high  hat 
ventured  near.  To  his  obsequious 
"Young  lambs  to  sell;  two  for  a  penny," 
the  new-comer  did  not  deign  a  glance, 
but  dragged  his  companion  along.  She 
wished  to  linger  and  look  at  the  toy  ani 
mal,  with  its  fleece  made  of  white  cotton 
wool  and  spangled  with  Dutch  gilt.  The 
pink  ribbon,  that  adorned  its  neck,  caused 
the  black  spots,  serving  as  eyes,  to  stand 
out  in  bold  relief,  until  they  seemed  to 
follow  the  child,  as  she  looked  back  at 
the  grinning  cripple  and  said,  "I  want 
one,  papa." 

The  only  response  she  received  was  a 
sudden  and  impatient  jerk  at  her  arm, 
which  caused  her  to  stumble,  while  the 
man,  as  he  held  her  up,  exclaimed  in 
French,  "Can  you  not  stand?"  He  in 
creased  his  already  rapid  strides  in  his 
haste  to  reach  the  ship,  and  the  little  one 
ran  to  keep  up  with  him. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

As  the  two  boarded  the  vessel,  all  con 
nection  with  the  dock  was  cut  off,  and, 
from  the  cries  and  lamentations  of  those 
on  ship  and  ashore,  the  man  hurried 
away.  As  he  entered  the  cabin,  he  was 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  young 
Quakeress.  The  child  at  once  attracted 
her  notice,  and  the  young  woman  looked 
earnestly  into  the  face  that  was  flushed 
from  running,  and  into  the  large  dark 
eyes  that  glistened  with  unshed  tears. 
The  Quakeress  was  magnetically  made 
aware  of  the  penetrating  gaze  of  the 
man.  The  hot  blood  mounted  to  her 
temples  at  what  she  considered  the 
Frenchman's  insolence,  and  she  turned 
abruptly  away. 

Drawing  a  sort  of  military  hat  well 
over  his  eyes,  the  man  sat  down,  and 
told  the  child  to  do  likewise.  His  gaze 
followed  the  wearer  of  the  gray  garb,  as 
she  and  her  father  conversed  earnestly. 

The  little  girl  seemed  forgotten  by  all, 
as  she  sat  perched  up  on  a  chair,  that 
seemed  too  high  for  her;  and  she  swung 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

one  little  foot.  With  the  toe  of  the  other 
she  now,  and  then,  pushed  herself  back  on 
her  chair.  Soft  curls  clung  to  her  brow, 
still  damp  from  the  late  exercise.  She 
occasionally  bit  the  corners  of  her  under 
lip,  betraying  nervousness.  When  the 
cape  she  wore  fell  back,  it  disclosed 
a  part  of  the  little  dress  skirt  in  her 
chubby  hand,  that  held  it  firmly.  With 
the  other  she  balanced  herself  every  time 
her  toe  was  pressed  to  the  floor.  A 
bewildered  expression,  almost  ,1  fright 
ened  one,  rested  on  her  face.  She  was 
intently  watching  the  strangers,  and  her 
earnestness  made  her  appear  thoughtful 
beyond  her  years. 

To  those  who  noticed  the  dark  man 
whom  she  addressed  as  papa,  he  seemed 
indifferent  to  everything,  so  wrapped  was 
he  in  thought. 

A  splashing  of  water,  a  motion  of  the 
ship,  a  last,  long  farewell  from  those  on 
board,  and  the  "Anne  and  Elizabeth" 
set  sail  for  America. 

The  day  proved  one  of  calm,  peaceful 
13 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

sailing,  but  the  night  grew  black  and 
tempestuous.  The  ship  seemed  tossed 
about  on  the  angry  billows  all  through 
the  long  hours,  and  daylight  afforded 
but  slight  relief  to  the  anxious  passen 
gers.  The  Quakers  were  the  first  to 
take  their  seats  at  the  table.  The  daugh 
ter's  remark  to  her  father,  that  she  did 
not  regret  that  the  light  of  day  had  come, 
found  an  echoing  response  in  the  dark 
stranger's  mind,  as  he  heard  it.  He  was 
their  only  companion  at  the  early  break 
fast,  and  the  woman  noticed  that  his  con 
sisted  of  a  cup  of  coffee.  As  he  left  his 
chair,  the  Quaker's  glance  followed  him. 

"The  child  must  be  ill;  dost  thou  not 
think  so,  Martha?" 

"Wouldst  thou  ask  the  man?" 

"I  have  no  wish  to  meddle.  His  bear 
ing  is  that  of  an  aristocrat.  Didst  thou 
notice  the  ugly  birth-mark  just  under  his 
chin?" 

"Yes,  father;  and  I  thought  I  ob 
served  a  slight  suspicion  of  it  on  the 
child." 

14 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Didst  thou?  Well,  nature  is  re 
markable  in  its  transmissions.  I  presume 
she  is  his,  though  she  favors  him  but  lit 
tle,  aside  from  the  birth-mark,  which  is 
conclusive  evidence  to  my  mind." 

Others  now  began  to  crawl,  rather  than 
walk,  from  their  bunks,  and  the  Quaker 
and  his  daughter  relapsed  into  silence. 
Fiercer  and  fiercer  grew  the  storm,  and 
fear  now  blanched  the  faces  of  nearly  all 
on  board.  As  the  day  advanced,  the 
wind  seemed  to  increase  in  its  velocity, 
and  the  commander  did  what  he  could  to 
encourage  and  sympathize  with  the  panic- 
stricken.  Strong  men  could  not  keep 
their  feet ;  and  women  and  children  be 
came  too  ill  to  care  for  life,  or  what  was 
going  on  around  them.  In  the  gather 
ing  gloom  of  twilight,  the  dark  stranger 
approached  the  Quakeress.  She  felt  his 
presence  rather  than  saw  him,  as  she  sat 
on  deck,  heedless  of  the  raging  billows. 
The  rain  had  ceased,  but  the  elements 
appeared  to  be  striving  to  do  their  worst. 

Addressing  her,  the  man  said,  "My 
15 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

child  is  very  ill.  Will  you  go  to  her? 
I  have  done  my  best.  She  seems  to  be 
sinking  from  this  seasickness."  Rising, 
the  woman  moved  away.  He  supposed, 
at  first,  it  was  to  avoid  him,  as  she  did  not 
reply,  but  a  moment  later  he  saw  her  stop 
before  the  Quaker.  Divining  that  it  was 
her  father,  and  that  she  sought  his  advice, 
he,  too,  drew  near  to  the  old  man. 

"Thou  wouldst  have  my  daughter  go 
to  thine;  lead  the  way."  With  these 
few  words  of  acquiescence  to  his  request, 
the  three  left  the  deck.  They  found  the 
little  girl  unconscious.  Still  silent,  the 
Quakeress  went  out,  and  speedily  returned 
with  a  medicine  case. 

"Wilt  thou  consent  to  my  treatment 
of  the  child?"  she  asked,  addressing  the 
stranger. 

"Do  what  you  will;  I  am  powerless." 

The  old  Quaker  took  his  seat  not  far 
from  the  child,  around  whom  were  gath 
ered  the  actors  to  a  strange  drama.  The 
dark  man  leaned  against  the  side  of  the 
ship  for  support,  as  it  tossed  and  rolled 
16 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

on  the  rough  sea,  and  watched  the  young 
nurse.  Her  soft  touch  seemed  to  have 
magic  in  it;  the  little  breast  rose  and  fell, 
and  nature,  aided  by  restoratives,  was 
making  a  tremendous  effort  to  assert 
herself. 

"Wilt  thou  tell  me  her  name?"  the 
Quakeress  asked,  for  the  first  time  look 
ing  straight  into  the  dark  eyes  of  the  lit 
tle  girl's  father. 

"Arabella,"  he  said;  and  seemingly  it 
was  all  he  wished  to  say,  for  he  immedi 
ately  left  with  the  remark,  "I  must  get 
air." 

As  the  woman  bathed  the  little  suf 
ferer's  brow  she  studied  intently  her 
face.  The  eyes,  she  had  noticed  on  first 
seeing  the  child,  were  dark,  like  her  fa 
ther's.  "But  the  features,"  she  said,  as 
she  communed  with  herself,  "are  purely 
English,  and  the  light  hair  with  the  dark 
brows  seems  strange." 

"What  clidst  thou  say,  Martha?" 

The  daughter  gave  a  little  start  at  the 
sound  of  her  father's  voice. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

''Oh,  I  must  have  been  thinking 
aloud;"  and  she  repeated  what  had  been 
passing  through  her  mind. 

"But  her  father  is  a  Frenchman. 
Didst  thou  not  hear  him  speak?" 

"Yes,  but   the   child  seems  English." 

Without  appearing  to  notice  her  last 
remark,  he  said,  "Dost  thou  think  she 
will  recover?" 

"If  it  seems  best  to  the  Lord." 

"Thou  hast  said  aright.  See,  already 
the  vital  spark  has  been  rekindled." 

As  the  voices  ceased,  the  little  patient 
opened  her  eyes  and  gazed  at  her  at 
tendant.  She  appeared  frightened,  and 
turned  her  head  as  though  in  search 
of  some  one.  Martha  laid  her  hand 
soothingly,  gently,  on  the  little  head, 
as  she  said,  "If  thou  movest,  thou  wilt 
be  ill  again."  A  touching  silence  fol 
lowed  the  warning,  for  the  pathetic  face 
of  the  child  showed  she  was  deeply 
moved.  At  last  a  great  sob  shook  her 
little  form,  and  she  cried,  "I  want  my 
mamma." 

18 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Wouldst  thou  like  me  to  speak  to 
thy  father?" 

"Oh,  no;   I  want  my  mamma  dear." 

' '  Arabella ! ' '  The  word  was  spoken  by 
the  dark  stranger  who  had  just  appeared. 

Only  her  name!  The  little  hands  cov 
ered  her  face  to  hide  the  quivering  lips. 
The  next  moment  the  marvelous  self- 
control  of  the  child  showed  in  her  an 
gelic  expression.  Her  eyes  now  turned 
to  the  man,  as  she  exclaimed,  "Papa!" 
Then,  as  he  did  not  move,  her  arms  were 
outstretched  to  him,  as  she  said,  "Kiss 
me,  papa." 

Without  a  responsive  word  or  action 
to  the  little  invalid,  he  addressed  himself 
to  her  nurse:  "I  will  relieve  you  of  your 
watch.  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  you  for 
the  service  you  have  rendered  me." 

Martha  rose  from  the  side  of  Arabella's 
bunk,  where  she  had  been  sitting.  An 
irresistible  impulse  moved  her  to  bend 
over  the  child  and  kiss  the  pale  cheek,  as 
she  tenderly  smoothed  back  the  soft  curls 
that  fell  over  her  face,  leaving  it  half  in 
19 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

shadow.  The  Quakeress  felt  humiliated 
by  the  man's  dismissal.  Ought  she  to 
have  left  before? 

"Will  you  come  back  soon?"  asked 
the  little  girl. 

"I  will  if  thou  needest  me:  and  if  thou 
requests  me,"  addressing  herself  to  the 
man.  "She  is  not  fully  recovered.  She 
had  only  regained  consciousness  as  thou 
earnest  in." 

A  puzzled,  questioning  expression 
passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  man. 
He  felt  uneasy  in  this  woman's  presence. 
Her  gentle,  persuasive  manner  annoyed 
him.  "What  does  she  think?"  he  won 
dered.  Then  his  cold,  stoical  manner  was 
again  apparent,  as  he  watched  her  gather 
up  her  medicines.  He  moved  nearer  the 
bunk  and  gazed  earnestly  at  the  little  in 
valid. 

As  Martha  was  about  to  depart,  he  said, 
' '  You  ought  to  leave  this  place.  The  air  is 
poison.  I  am  obliged  to  you  for  your  as 
sistance,  and  hope  it  may  continue,  if  my 
daughter  is  to  be  ill  all  the  time  we  areout. ' ' 

20 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  am  willing  to  aid  thee.  If  the 
child  needs  me,  thou  canst  let  me  know." 

The  old  Quaker  had  been  a  quiet 
spectator  of  the  passing  scenes.  For 
some  time  after  leaving  the  Frenchman, 
he  and  his  daughter  sat  in  silence  on  the 
deck  of  the  ship.  Martha  was  the  first 
to  break  the  stillness. 

"Father,  what  thinkest  thou  of  the 
Frenchman?" 

"That  the  less  thou  hast  to  do  with 
him  the  better.  I  am  convinced  he  has 
not  that  integrity  to  which  we  have  been 
accustomed.  Didst  thou  notice  the 
fierce  look  he  gave  the  little  girl,  when  he 
heard  her  talking  to  thee?" 

"I  did,  and  I,  like  thee,  am  led  to 
feel  that  he  has  no  love  for  her.  Thou 
art  so  convincing  in  speech  that  I  do  wish 
thou  couldst  persuade  the  man  to  allow 
me  freedom  with  the  child.  I  could 
bring  her  back  to  health  if  I  were  given 
the  opportunity." 

"I  am  of  the  belief  that  thou  wilt  be 
called  again." 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

Even  as  the  Quaker  spoke,  the  French 
man  appeared.  "Arabella  has  fainted; 
may  I  ask  you  to  come  again." 

A  glance  only  was  exchanged  between 
Martha  and  her  father,  as  she  hastened 
to  the  child.  True,  she  was  uncon 
scious.  After  making  use  of  the  restora 
tives  at  hand,  without  the  desired  result, 
Martha  said,  "Hadst  thou  not  better  see 
if  there  is  a  physician  aboard?" 

The  man,  with  an  impatient  manner, 
replied,  "I  prefer  your  treatment  to  that 
of  a  charlatan." 

The  Frenchman's  manner  was  so  col 
lected  in  the  presence  of  what  had  the 
appearance  of  death,  that  the  young 
nurse  closed  her  eyes  for  a  few  seconds, 
while  she  indulged  in  supplication,  more 
that  the  father's  hard  heart  might  be 
softened  than  for  the  child's  life. 

After  a  vigorous  chafing  of  the  little 
hands,  so  limp  and  helpless,  and  the 
various  remedies  applied,  the  Quakeress 
was  rewarded  by  seeing  her  eyelids 
quiver.  A  deep  breath  followed  the 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

muscular     action,    and     again    the    little 
patient  gazed  into  the  kind  face. 

"Thou  must  not  speak,"  was  the  ad 
monition.  "Thou  art  too  weak.  I  will 
sit  by  thee,  now,  and  see  thou  dost  not 
try  to  rise." 

For  three  days  and  nights  the  young 
woman  watched  beside  the  little  invalid. 
Then,  at  last,  the  sun  broke  forth  from 
its  imprisonment  behind  the  clouds. 
The  troubled  waters  bore  the  long,  low 
swell  that  belies  the  remembrance  of  the 
turbulent  sea.  Sitting  apart  from  the 
others,  who  thronged  the  deck  to  get  a 
breath  of  the  life-giving  air,  was  the 
Quakeress,  calm  and  well.  The  com 
mander  said  she  was  the  only  woman  on 
board,  who  could  be  a  sailor,  all  the  others 
having  succumbed  to  sea-sickness.  Their 
pale  faces  and  woe-begone  attitudes, 
Martha  said,  affected  her  more  than  the 
rough  sea,  so  she  took  Arabella  to  a 
remote  corner  of  the  deck.  The  little 
girl  was  wrapped  in  one  of  her  shawls  and 
tenderly  held  in  her  arms. 
23 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

The  ship  was  too  crowded  for  them  to 
remain  long  free  from  curious,  question 
ing  looks.  The  child's  thin  hands  were 
clasped  on  the  outside  of  the  gray  cover 
ing,  and  a  pitiful  picture  was  portrayed 
in  them. 

The  Frenchman  knew  that  Arabella 
was  safe  from  the  inquisitiveness  of 
other  passengers  while  in  the  arms  of  one 
of  the  then  traduced  sect  known  as 
Quakers.  So  he  left  the  two  alone  ap 
parently,  but  his  eye  was  ever  watchful, 
so  that  he  might  be  near  if  they  were 
in  conversation.  About  noon  he  ap 
peared  at  Martha's  side.  "How  is  she?" 
he  inquired  in  terse  tones. 

"About  the  same.  She  has  not 
moved." 

At  this  instant  a  slight  shrinking  of  the 
little  form  did  not  escape  Martha.  It  lent 
fervor  to  the  quiet  manner  of  the  Quaker 
ess  that  did  not  invite  further  intrusion, 
and  the  Frenchman  walked  away.  The 
child  raised  her  delicate  hand  to  her  nurse's 
bonnet,  and  drew  the  face  down  to  her. 
24 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Please  tell  me  your  name?" 

"Martha." 

"Oh,  I  must  not  call  you  that.  Papa 
would  not  like  it."  Then  cautiously 
looking  round,  and  seeing  no  one,  she 
whispered,  "Papa  used  to  love  me.  I  do 
not  think  he  does  now.  I  must  have 
been  a  very  wicked  little  girl.  Made 
moiselle  used  to  tell  me  about  wicked 
children.  Do  you  think  I  am  wicked?" 
Then  before  an  answer  could  be  given, 
"If  I  try  to  be  very  good,  will  papa  kiss 
me  again?" 

Arabella  seemed  to  have  exhausted 
herself  with  her  rapid  questions,  and 
nestled  her  head  close  to  Martha's  heart. 

"Thou  art  good,  child.  Thou  hast 
been  sick.  When  thou  art  well  again, 
thy  father  will  appear  the  same  to  thee. 
Oh !  here  is  some  broth  for  thee ;  drink 
it,  and  thou  wilt  feel  better." 

The  words  proved  true,  and  as  the 
days  passed  Arabella  grew  strong. 

"Papa,"  she  said  one  day,  as  she 
leaned  against  his  chair,  while  she 
25 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

watched  Martha  in  the  distance,  "what 
makes  the  lady,  who  took  care  of  me, 
wear  such  queer  clothes?" 

' '  Have  you  not  learned  she  is  a  Quaker? 
Keep  away  from  her  now  you  are  well. 
Ask  me  no  more  questions,"  and  he  re 
lapsed  into  his  accustomed  oblivion  to 
the  surroundings  that  he  so  despised. 

The  Quaker  and  he  seldom  conversed, 
for  the  old  man  was  as  anxious  to  keep 
away  from  the  Frenchman  as  that  gentle 
man  was  to  keep  from  him.  To  Martha 
he  said  "I  am  convinced  he  did  not  wish 
to  tell  me  the  child's  age,  but  disliked  to 
refuse  before  her.  I  am  satisfied  he 
spoke  the  truth  when  he  replied  'Almost 
seven,'  for  the  little  one  said,  'Just 
seven,  papa.'  She  is  very  young  to 
be  left  without  a  mother.  I  wish  he 
did  incline  to  more  tenderness  toward 
her. ' ' 

During  the   long  voyage   Martha  and 

Arabella  were   not   much   together,  as   it 

seemed  impossible   for   the   Quakeress  to 

talk  to  the  little  girl  without  that  appar- 

26 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

ent  fear  on  her  part  that  marked  all  her 
actions. 

At  the  voice  of  the  dark  man  she 
would  start  and  give  him  a  questioning 
glance,  and  then  in  soft,  sad  tones  she 
would  whisper,  "Papa  used  to  love  me." 

At  last  land  was  sighted,  and  Martha, 
tenderly  placing  an  arm  about  the  child, 
asked  the  first  question  concerning  her  life : 

"Arabella,  what  is  thy  name?" 

Looking  up  into  her  face,  she  replied, 
"You  just  said  it." 

"I  mean  thy  last  one,  thy  father's 
name." 

"Oh,  I  know!  Mademoiselle  used  to 
call  my  mamma  Madame." 

In  desperation  she  exclaimed  "What 
is  thy  father's?" 

"Monsieur." 

"No,  no.  Your  mother  was  Madame 
what?  Smith?" 

Then  Arabella  pointed  one  little  finger 

at  her  and  said,  "Now  I  know.     Truly  I 

do,  'cause    mamma   took    my    hand    and 

helped    me    to    write    to    papa,"   as    she 

27 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

spoke  his  name,  she  lowered  her  voice  to 
a  whisper. 

"She  taught  me  to  spell  it,  too. 
R-a-o-u-1  d-e  M-e-r-a-s.  And,  oh,  she 
used  to  get  such  long  letters  from  him, 
and  she  used  to  kiss  them."  Then,  as 
Martha  looked  with  incredulous  eyes 
upon  her,  Arabella  said,  "Oh,  yes,  she 
did,  'cause  she  said  they  were  sweet." 

She  had  forgotten  the  admonitions  as 
she  prattled  on.  "My  papa  used  to  take 
me  in  his  arms  and  kiss  me,  and  tell  me 
I  was  sweet,  too.  And  then  I  told  him 
I  loved  him  a  gardenfull,  'cause  it  grew 
all  the  time." 

"What  did  thy  father  say?"  asked  the 
young  woman. 

"That  I  was  making  b'lieve;  but," 
she  said  sorrowfully,  "papa  does  not  love 
me  now." 

The  interested  faces,  gazing  so  intently 
into  each  other,  did  not  pass  unob 
served. 

"Arabella,    I   want  you."     The  voice 
was  cold  and  harsher  than  usual. 
28 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  child  sprang  forward ;  then,  as  the 
impulse  seemed  to  seize  her,  she  clung 
to  Martha,  and  whispered,  "I  am  afraid; 
can  you  come,  too?" 

Again  the  man  spoke:     "Arabella." 

This  time  he  moved  toward  her.  Pale 
and  trembling  she  went  to  him. 

"Of  what  were  you  talking?"  asked 
the  man. 

For  a  moment  the  child  seemed  to 
swallow  a  great  sob.  Her  thin  face, 
made  so  by  illness,  grew  livid,  and  the 
little  lips  closed  tight.  She  held  her 
handkerchief  in  one  hand,  and  with  the 
other  twisted  one  corner  of  it.  The 
large  black  eyes  had  almost  a  wild  ex 
pression,  as  she  stared  at  the  man  she 
called  papa. 

The  people  about  stood  back  to  watch 
the  outcome  of  it  all. 

The  man  caught  her  by  the  shoulder, 
and  exclaimed,  in  French:  "What  were 
you  talking  about  to  that  gossiping 
woman?" 

No  reply  came  from  her  white  lips. 
29 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

''Answer  me,  will  you?  or  I  will" — he 
raised  his  arm  as  if  to  strike  her,  while 
he  was  almost  as  pale  and  trembling  as 
she.  But  the  cause,  how  different! 
The  spectators  saw  depicted  in  his  face 
the  coward's  anger;  and  the  brute  force, 
which  it  was  a  father's  right  to  use,  was 
shown  in  his  very  attitude.  The  child 
now  shook  as  with  a  chill,  her  teeth  chat 
tered,  and  when  she  tried  to  speak  no 
sound  came. 

He  repeated,  "Tell  me  of  what  you 
were  talking."  Still  the  man's  arm 
swung  above  her  head  as  if  he  had  met  a 
man  in  open  battle,  and  not  a  child. 

Another  heroic  effort,  and  in  English, 
the  little  girl  replied,  with  a  steadfast  and 
now  fearless  gaze  into  his  face,  "Papa, 
dear,  we  were  talking  about  you." 

The  veins  in  his  neck  seemed  ready  to 
burst  as  the  angry  blood  mounted  to 
the  very  tips  of  his  ears,  and  he  ex 
claimed,  "How  dare  you  defy  me?  Who 
else?" 

He  must  have  loosened  his  hold,  for, 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

with  the  reply  "Mamma,"  Arabella 
sprang  back  to  avert  the  blow  he  would 
have  given.  Martha  came  at  this  oppor 
tune  time,  being  unable  to  resist  longer 
the  temptation,  that  had  seemed  to  be 
consuming  her,  to  protect  the  helpless 
one. 

Just  at  the  moment  the  little  girl 
eluded  his  grasp,  he  took  a  step  forward 
to  regain  his  hold  of  her,  and  lost  his 
balance.  The  place  where  he  stood  was 
slippery,  and  before  he  could  recover  his 
poise  he  measured  his  length  on  the 
deck. 

No  one  moved  for  an  instant.  Breath 
less  silence  followed  the  scene  just  en 
acted.  Martha  was  the  first  to  bend  over 
him.  He  had  fallen  on  his  side  as  his 
foot  went  from  under  him,  and  the  out 
stretched  arm  he  had  used  to  break  his 
fall  was  now  lying  beneath  him.  He  had 
struck  his  head  also,  and,  while  not  wholly 
unconscious,  he  was  dazed.  The  Quak 
eress  spoke  to  him.  He  did  not  reply, 
but  when  two  or  three  of  the  passengers 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

offered  their  assistance  he  shook  their 
hands  from  him,  and,  without  a  word, 
rose.  The  men  fell  back,  and  when  the 
Frenchman  put  his  hand  to  his  head  and 
looked  about  for  some  support,  not  one 
of  those  stalwart  Englishmen  placed  a 
chair  for  him,  but  moved  away. 

Martha  saw  that  he  was  suffering.  He 
attempted  to  put  out  his  right  hand 
toward  his  victim,  who  stood  apart  a  lit 
tle  from  the  excited  group,  but  he  could 
not,  and  he  fairly  hissed,  "Arabella,  fol 
low  me!"  She  did  not  move.  Again 
that  tyrannical  glance  met  her  eyes. 

Then  the  Quakeress  spoke.  "A  mo 
ment  with  thee." 

"I  have  no  time,"  was  the  quick  re 
joinder. 

At  this  point  in  the  dialogue  Martha 
tenderly  placed  her  hand  on  Arabella's 
head,  as  she  said,  addressing  herself  to 
the  man,  "When  thou  didst  ask  me  to 
do  thee  a  favor  I  found  time.  If  thy 
birthright  inheritance  had  given  thee  the 
honor  of  a  Friend,  thou  wouldst  not  have 
32 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

spoken  those  words.     Thou  hast  the  bear 
ing  of  a  nobleman  but  the  spirit  of  a  serf. ' ' 

His  rage  was  greater  than  at  any  time 
before,  and  it  is  difficult  to  conjecture 
what  might  have  happened  if,  in  a 
thoughtless  moment,  he  had  not  at 
tempted  to  move  his  right  arm.  The 
pain  caused  him  to  give  up  the  battle 
and  look  to  his  injury.  He  swayed  when 
he  walked,  as  though  too  weak  to  stand, 
and  Martha  placed  a  chair  for  him,  and 
gave  him  water. 

The  old  Quaker,  knowing  nothing  of 
what  had  occurred,  now  came  forward. 

"Can  I  render  thee  a  service?" 

For  a  moment  a  savage  look  over 
spread  the  dark  man's  countenance;  then 
as  suddenly  he  replied,  "I  wish  you 
would  see  if  my  arm  is  broken." 

By  this  time  Arabella  was  in  Martha's 
arms  in  the  cabin.  Soothing  words  were 
spoken  to  reassure  the  frightened  child. 
"Arabella,  it  is  now  but  a  short  time  be 
fore  thou  and  I  part.  Thou  must  re 
member  me;  wilt  thou,  always?" 
33 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Oh,  yes,  Martha."  And  throwing  her 
arms  around  the  woman's  neck,  she  cried  : 
"Oh,  if  my  papa  only  would  love  me 
again !  Will  he  be  good  to  me,  do  you 
think?" 

"Thou  must  be  a  good  child." 
"Wilt    thou   come   to    the    stranger?" 
asked  the  old  man. 

"For  what  dost  thou  need  me,  father?" 
"The      Frenchman's      arm    is     badly 
bruised.      Bring    thy    medicine  case  and 
bandages." 

"Stay  thou  here,  child,  and  I  will  come 
to  thee  quickly,"  said  Martha. 

As  she  followed  the  old  man  to  where 
the  patient  sat,  the  dark  stranger  looked 
up.    "I  seem  to  be  at  your  mercy  again. 
This   motley   crowd   does  not  number  a 
doctor  whom  I  can  trust  as  I  do  you." 
The  Quakeress  was  as  stoical  as  he. 
"What  wouldst  thou  have  me  do?" 
"Something  for  my  bruised  arm." 
The  woman  made  no  reply  as  she  set 
about  her  task,  and  when  he  was  relieved 
by  the  tight  bandage  and  sling,  the  man 
34 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

said:  " Thank  you;  if  I  can  render  you  a 
service  at  any  time  I  shall  be  pleased  to 
do  so." 

"Wilt  thou  forget,  thinkest  thou?"  and, 
before  he  could  answer,  "The  recompense 
is  thy  promise  not  to  treat  the  child  so  cru 
elly.  Arabella  was  not  at  fault.  I  asked 
thy  name  that  I  might  remember  the  lit 
tle  one.  Is  the  explanation  sufficient  to 
protect  her?" 

"I  promise  not  to  trouble  her." 

As  Martha  left  him  she  hastened  to 
comfort  Arabella.  She  found  her  fast 
asleep  on  her  bunk.  To  gain  the  con 
sent  of  the  Frenchman  to  leave  her  there 
until  morning  was  not  difficult,  for  he 
preferred  to  pass  the  sleepless  night  be 
fore  him  alone. 

A  heavy  fog  had  settled  down  upon  the 
sea,  and  no  one  could  tell  when  they 
would  reach  land.  Morning,  however, 
found  them  putting  into  port,  and  Ara 
bella,  led  by  her  friend,  was  taken  to  find 
her  father.  To  the  voice  of  the  child 
calling  "Papa,"  there  came  no  response. 
35 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

She  climbed  and  looked  on  the  bed ;  he 
was  not  there. 

"Thou  wilt  find  him  on  deck  or  at 
breakfast.  Come,  I  will  take  thee." 
Meeting  her  father,  she  learned  that  he 
had  not  seen  the  man,  although  he  had 
been  outside  and  around  about.  "Thou 
hadst  better  see.  His  bed  has  not  been 
disturbed." 

"America!"  cried  a  chorus  of  voices. 

The  pulling,  the  mooring  of  the  vessel, 
the  landing,  all  caused  the  greatest  ex 
citement. 

"What  is  the  trouble  with  thee?"  ex 
claimed  the  Quakeress,  as  her  father  re 
turned,  much  agitated. 

"The  man  is  not  to  be  found." 

"Not  to  be  found!"  repeated  Martha. 
"He  must  be  here.  Well,  he  will  come 
to  get  the  child." 

All  who  had  not  left  the  cabin  were 
asked  if  they  had  seen  the  stranger  du 
ring  the  morning,  but  to  the  commander's 
query  only  one  reply  was  elicited,  "No, 
not  since  he  fell."  The  search  was  kept 
36 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

up  to  no  purpose,  and  finally,  the  Quaker 
asked  that  the  facts  of  the  case  should 
be  written  out  and  signed  by  a  number 
of  passengers  and  the  officers  of  the  boat. 
Two  copies  were  made,  one  to  be  given 
to  the  authorities  at  Philadelphia,  and  the 
other  to  the  person  who  should  assume 
the  care  of  Arabella.  While  this  was 
under  discussion  Martha  came  up. 

"Is  it  the  child  thou  wert  speaking 
about?"  addressing  the  commander;  "if 
so,  I  will  take  her." 

"But  can  I  permit  it.  She  belongs  to 
the  vessel  and  his  Majesty"- 

At  this  point  a  packet  was  brought 
forth,  bearing  the  Quakeress'  name.  It 
had  been  discovered  lying  on  Arabella's 
small  box.  Hastily  opening  it,  Martha 
read  aloud:  "I  give  Arabella  into  your 
keeping  until  I  come  for  her.  I  am 
going  to  find  a  surgeon.  My  arm  needs 
attention.  Take  the  child  and  all  that 
is  hers  with  you,  and  leave  your  address 
at  the  ship's  office."  That  was  all. 

"What  is  his  name?"  was  now  asked  by 
37 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

those  present.  The  record  of  passengers 
only  revealed  "Monsieur  and  daughter." 

As  the  curious  ones  lingered,  anxious 
for  new  developments  to  the  mystery, 
they  heard  the  question  asked  again  and 
again  by  the  Quaker  and  the  crew,  "How 
did  he  disappear?"  and  the  reply,  "It 
must  be  he  fell  overboard." 

Then  the  old  man  said,  "Just  notify 
me  at  the  Friends'  meeting-house  if  her 
father  is  found  ; ' '  and  joining  his  daughter 
and  the  little  girl,  they  went  on  shore. 

"I  can  do  no  more,  Martha.  This  is 
most  strange." 

"Shall  I  see  my  papa  very  soon?" 
asked  Arabella. 

Brought  to  realize  the  fact  that  she  was 
a  listener  they  ended  their  conversation. 
And  the  Quakers,  with  their  new  responsi 
bility,  started  to  find  their  friends,  who 
waited  and  watched  for  them  to  come  to 
the  new  life  in  a  new  world. 


CHAPTER    II 

About  fifty  miles  from  Paris  was  the 

quaint  and  picturesque  village  of  L . 

In  the  gabled  windows  of  the  unpreten 
tious  houses  stood  jars  of  violets — the 
flower  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  French 
man.  Here  and  there  a  large  cat,  also, 
had  her  place  behind  the  twining  vines 
that  clung  to  the  stone  cottage,  and  soft 
ened  the  light  that  fell  upon  the  blossoms. 
Its  inhabitants,  judging  from  appearances, 
knew  little  or  nothing  of  the  world  be 
yond  their  homes.  They  were  not  a  curi 
ous  people,  for  little  happened  in  their 
inner  or  outer  lives  to  arouse  that  trait  in 
their  ingenuous  natures. 

A  small  church,  with  a  cross  above  the 
entrance,  and  a  shop  or  two,  met  all  the 
needs  of  the  dwellers  in  this  hamlet. 

About  three  miles  to  the  west  of  the 
39 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

village  sanctuary  was  a  small  chateau. 
Only  the  very  old  men  and  women  about 
the  country  could  remember  when  it  had 
been  inhabited.  They  told  the  story  of 
some  romance  connected  with  it  to  the 
children  about  their  knees,  while  the 
boys  and  girls,  in  turn,  lowered  their 
voices  when  they  approached  it,  and  kept 
to  the  far  side  of  the  road  that  lay  by  its 
gates. 

Now  and  then  some  child  would  ven 
ture  to  the  wall  surrounding  it,  and,  step 
ping  on  its  craggy  surface,  climb  to  a 
height  that  would  permit  him  to  peep 
over.  The  head  went,  oh,  so  cautiously 
up,  but  suddenly  down,  as  the  eye  met 
its  weather-beaten  windows  and  open 
doors  that  ever  and  anon  sent  forth  a 
sort  of  human  wail.  The  howling  winds 
re-echoed  the  cry  in  an  invitation  to  the 
beetles,  bats,  hawks,  and  any  other  forest 
tramp,  to  take  refuge  within  its  ruins. 

Eight  years  before  this  story  opens,  a 
Frenchman  had  surprised  these  simple 
folk  by  looking  about  the  old  chateau. 
4o 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Then,  when  men  were  seen  at  work  on 
the  crumbling  and  desolate  house,  the 
curiosity  of  the  natives  began  to  develop, 
and  it  reached  even  the  good  fathers  be 
hind  the  church  walls.  There  is  no  slan 
der  in  the  accusation,  for  the  long  dor 
mant  bump  of  inquisitiveness  was  seen  to 
grow  even  on  the  bald  heads  of  the  old 
men. 

But  time  only  partially  satisfied  the 
thirst  for  knowledge.  The  old  women 
said  it  was  quite  unsatisfactory  not  to 
enter  the  doors  of  the  chateau. 

The  warm  sun  had  touched  again  the 
paths,  which  had  been  overgrown  with 
weeds  and  briars  for  so  many  years. 
Fairyland,  it  seemed,  now  met  the  eye  of 
not  only  the  boy  but  the  curious  man, 
who  did  not  hesitate  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  sequestered  place.  A  stream  of 
pure  water  ran  through  the  grounds,  and 
on  cither  bank  grew  the  rarest  flowers. 

Within  the  chateau,  and  overlooking 
the  stream,  was  an  enchanted  chamber 
with  its  boudoir.  Every  detail  within 
4* 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

this  room  showed  the  most  tender 
thoughtfulness  for  the  occupant,  who 
stood  gazing  out  of  a  window  on  a 
bizarre  garden. 

A  man  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  rose- 
path  just  beneath.  He  was  accompanied 
by  a  little  girl,  fair  to  look  upon;  her 
hands  clasped  his,  and,  without  much 
seeming  effort,  he  lifted  her.  A  merry 
laugh  followed  the  feat,  and  she  turned 
her  large,  dark,  lustrous  eyes  up  to  the 
gaze  of  the  man  and  said,  "Do  it  again, 
papa." 

"Arry,  you  require  too  much 
strength;"  and  he  placed  her  on  his 
shoulder,  to  the  child's  infinite  delight. 
She  showered  kisses  upon  his  hair. 

"See  here,  sweetheart,  I  have  come  a 
long  way  for  your  seventh  birthday.  I 
do  not  want  those  on  the  top  of  my 
head." 

The  flaxen  curls  were  laid  against  his 
cheek;  then  suddenly  looking  up  she  said  : 
"Papa,  what  makes  that  queer  place 
under  your  chin?" 

42 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Let  me  see,  Arry,  you  have  asked 
that  question  how  many  times?" 

Then,  as  she  saw  a  lady  approach,  she 
forgot  all  else,  and  exclaimed:  "Oh, 
here's  mamma." 

As  the  woman  joined  them,  she  took 
the  small  foot  resting  on  the  arm  of  the 
child's  father,  as  she  said,  "You  are  only 
a  baby,  after  all,  Arry." 

"No,  mamma  dear,  I'se  taller  than 
you  now;"  and  she  drew  herself  up  on 
her  father's  shoulder,  where  she  was  still 
perched,  as  she  continued,  "truly  I  am 
now,  'cause  I  am  seven  to-day." 

"Arry,  you  make  my  shoulder  lame. 
I  must  put  you  down,"  and  he  suited 
the  action  to  the  words,  as  he  said,  ' '  Have 
you  all  you  want  for  your  birthday,  my 
daughter?" 

The  child  was  now  walking  between 
the  parents,  each  holding  a  chubby 
hand. 

At  the   question    from   her   father,  she 
drew  her  hand  from  his,  and  clasped  a 
locket  suspended  from  her  neck. 
43 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"This  is  the  nicest,  'cause  you're 
pretty." 

' '  Hush,  Arry ;  you  make  even  a  French 
man  blush  with  such  flattery." 

"What's  that,  papa?" 

"Never  mind,  little  girl,  about  explan 
ations.  You  are  far  too  old  now  for 
your  years." 

"Yes,  Raoul,  that  comes  from  having 
only  adults  for  companions." 

The  child  interrupted  the  conversation 
that  had  taken  a  serious  turn,  by  saying, 
"Why,  papa,  may  I  not  show  it  to  any 
one?" 

"Arry,  I  said  not  until  I  gave  you 
permission.  Do  you  remember?" 

"Oh,  yes.  I  never,  never,  never  will  till 
you  say  so.  Am  I  good?" 

"Indeed  you  are,  and  my  darling  lit 
tle  daughter.  Now  go  to  Mademoiselle;" 
and  after  kissing  the  child  fervently,  he 
dismissed  her. 

Father  and  mother  remained  in  the 
garden  until  evening  shadows  warned 
them  of  the  gathering  dampness.  Then 
44 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

they  moved  toward  the  chateau.  Ten 
derly,  confidingly,  the  wife  laid  her  hand 
in  that  of  her  husband,  as  together  they 
went  to  her  boudoir.  Drawing  a  divan 
before  an  open  window,  they  watched 
silently  the  rising  moon,  which  cast  a  blue- 
gray  hue  on  the  road  that  lay  beyond. 
Through  a  low  fence  that  divided  two 
parcels  of  land  a  tender  vine  was  inter 
laced.  A  gleam  of  light  here  and  there 
touched  the  purple  fruit  that  hung  from  it. 

A  deep  sigh  escaped  the  wife,  as  her 
eye  rested  on  this  picture  of  nature. 
Her  husband  turned  his  face  toward  her. 
"Why  that  sigh,  my  loved  one?" 

"Oh,  Raoul,  I  was  thinking  of  some 
thing  Arry  said  to-day  that  has  found  an 
echo  in  my  heart." 

"What  is  it,  love?  Arry  must  beware 
of  such  serious  conversation." 

He  placed  his  hand  beneath  her  chin 
and  lifted  the  drooping  head.  Then  he 
said,  more  earnestly,  "Tell  me,  darling, 
what  troubles  you?" 

"Raoul,  this  seclusion  and  secrecy 
45 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

weighs  heavy  on  my  heart.  Arry  is  now 
old  enough  to  need  greater  advantages 
than  we  can  give  her  here." 

"How  so,  my  own?  You  can  have 
anything,  everything  you  desire." 

The  wife  did  not  reply  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  as  she  sat  with  her  hands  clasped 
aimlessly  before  her. 

"Can  you  not  tell  me  what  is  missing 
to  complete  your  happiness?"  asked  the 
husband. 

"Dear  Raoul,  freedom  once  more." 

"Can  you  not  wait  a  little  longer,  dar 
ling?" 

"Oh  this  waiting  has  been  so  long.  It 
is  becoming  unbearable.  Arry  is  preco 
cious  and  asks  me  many  questions  I 
find  it  difficult  to  answer.  But  when  she 
said  'Mamma,  why  does  not  papa  live 
here  all  the  time  with  you  and  me,  or 
take  us  with  him?'  I  replied  with  what 
fortitude  I  could  'Sometime  he  will.'  ' 

The  husband  placed  his  arm  about  the 
wife  at  his  side  and  drew  her  to  him. 
Then  she  added,  after  a  little  hesitation, 
46 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  told  her,  when  pressed  further  by 
her  childish  questioning,  that  papa  had 
a  reason  for  all  he  did.  Your  child 
looked  into  my  face  with  earnestness  as 
she  said,  'Is  it  a  really  reason,  mamma?'  ' 
And,  as  the  man  pressed  her  head  down 
on  his  breast,  she  sobbed  aloud  "Raoul, 
I,  too,  asked  myself  if  there  was  'a  really 
reason.' 

"Bella,  for  over  eight  years  I  believe 
I  have  had  your  implicit  confidence.  It 
has  been  my  bulwark  in  all  times  of 
weakness  since  we  first  met.  Will  you 
take  it  from  me  now?" 

With  the  utter  abandon  that  only  wo 
man's  faith  in  man  can  explain,  Bella 
threw  her  arms  about  her  husband's  neck 
and  pressed  her  lips  to  his.  Then  she 
softly  murmured:  "I  trust  you  now  and 
forever.  Keep  me  where  it  seems  wise, 
only  let  me  be  near  my  love." 

"My  darling  wife,  this  is  the  lion's 
strength  with  which  you  hold  me." 

"You     have    dried    my     tears    away, 
Raoul.     You  will  see  them  no  more." 
47 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

As  the  clock  chimed  twelve  times  the 
lights  went  out  in  the  chateau. 

An  early  breakfast  was  spread,  for  the 
master  must  leave.  Even  as  the  sun  rose, 
father  and  mother  stood  by  the  little 
bed,  and  watched  their  sleeping  child. 
Bending  tenderly  to  the  little  face,  her 
papa  lifted  one  golden  curl  in  his  fingers, 
as  he  kissed  the  fair,  childish  brow. 
Softly  the  door  closed  after  them. 

They  went  to  see  that  all  was  in  readi 
ness  for  the  departure.  As  the  parents 
stepped  out  on  the  balcony,  the  damp 
ness  of  the  night  before  still  rested  on  leaf 
and  flower.  A  fragrance  that  only  early 
morning  gives  pervaded  the  air,  and  so 
clear  was  the  atmosphere,  so  utterly 
silent  the  stillness,  that  the  breathing  of 
the  cattle  could  be  heard  as  they  grazed 
hard  by.  Raoul's  horse  was  tethered  a 
short  distance  from  where  he  stood  by 
Bella's  side,  and,  at  his  master's  voice,  he 
gave  a  whinny  as  he  pawed  the  lawn. 

A  few  last  words,  and  the  parting 
came. 

48 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Oh,  Raoul,  it  is  such  an  ecstacy  of 
joy  to  be  with  you.  Why,  why  must 
such  forebodings  come.  Promise  me 
again  you  will  hasten  your  return." 

"You  will  see  me  in  a  day  or  two, 
unless  I  should  go  over  to  London;  if  I 
do  you  will  hear  from  me.  In  that  case 
I  may  be  away  several  days.  My  darling, 
keep  up  your  courage.  Reward  is  near." 

"I  hope,  Raoul  dear,  this  going  to 
London  will  not  detain  you  long;  for 
when  you  do  not  come,  I  dread  the  long, 
dark  night,  and  morning  light  has  only 
horrors  for  the  day  that  brings  you  not." 

His  parting  words,  as  he  mounted  his 
horse:  "Bella,  you  will  see  me  in  three 
or  four  days  at  the  latest;  be  cheerful!" 
sounded  in  her  ears,  as  his  horse  cantered 
away  and  left  her  standing  beneath  the 
swaying  branches. 

As  the  leaves  touched  her  brow,  a 
shadow  flitted  over  her  face  and  added  to 
the  pathos  there.  Dewdrops  fell  from 
the  flowering  boughs  about  her  and 
bathed  the  burning  cheeks.  Still  the 
49 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

leaves  sparkled,  and  heaven's  and  wife's 
tears  mingled.  Forward  swayed  the 
lithesome  figure  for  a  last  glance  of  horse 
and  rider.  "So  gentle,  so  kind  to  us,  my 
Raoul,"  she  whispered. 

As  he  passed  beneath  the  lindens, 
myriad  drops  of  dew  fell  upon  him. 
Bella  put  forth  her  hand,  as  if  to  call  him 
back.  It  touched  the  over-hanging  leaves, 
and  from  them  fell  upon  her  head, 
nature's  most  delicate  restorative. 

"Sweet  heaven,  thou  hast  vouchsafed 
to  us  twain  the  same  baptism.  I  am 
satisfied," 


CHAPTER  III 

The  old  Quaker  and  his  daughter  had 
friends  in  Philadelphia.  A  son  waited 
anxiously  the  coming  of  father  and  sister, 
and,  in  the  reunion  of  the  loving  and  be 
loved  ones,  Arabella  was  forgotten  by  all 
save  Martha. 

Days  passed  into  weeks,  and  still  no 
word  from  the  missing  man.  The  child 
either  did  not  know  or  could  not  be 
persuaded  to  tell  where  her  home  had 
been.  The  Quakeress  frequently  found 
her  weeping,  and,  on  one  occasion,  when 
the  efforts  of  the  child  to  suppress  her 
grief  overcame  the  tender  heart  of  Martha, 
she  clasped  the  child  in  her  arms  and 
covered  her  own  eyes.  The  little  one 
said:  "Don't;  I  will  not  cry  again." 

"Why,  child?" 

"  'Cause  it  makes  you  cry." 
5' 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Yes,  but  suppose  thou  canst  not  help 
it?" 

"I  will,  though,  Martha." 

"How?" 

"Lock  the  tear-box  up  tight  and  hide 
the  key  where  only  God  can  find  it.  See, 
I  have  done  it  now,"  and  she  smiled. 

A  radiant  look  came  into  the  childish 
face,  and  the  Quakeress,  clasping  Ara 
bella  more  firmly,  said,  "Thou  shalt  be 
mine.  Thine  is  the  spirit  of  which 
martyrs  are  made.  And  now  I  shall 
never  talk  with  thee  any  more  about  thy 
home,  thy  father  and  mother.  Thou  art 
mine." 

"What  if  mamma  came?" 

"Then  thou  shalt  be  hers,  but  now  thy 
gown  and  bonnet  shall  be  like  mine. 
Wilt  thou  like  to  be  a  little  Friend?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Papa  was  so  good  to  leave 
me  with  you." 

"Then  wilt  thou  learn  to  say  thou  and 
thee  and  thy,  like  the  Friends?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Martha,  wilt  thee  teach 
me?" 

52 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Child,  thou  hast  taught  thyself. 
Love  is  the  twist  in  thy  tongue.  It  will 
conquer  armies." 

"What  is  that?" 

But  as  Martha  did  not  seem  inclined  to 
explain  her  mystical  allusion,  Arabella 
was  too  wise  in  child-lore  to  persist. 

The  days  were  now  spent  in  looking 
about  for  a  permanent  home.  The  old 
man,  although  not  rich,  had  not  come  to 
America  empty-handed.  It  was  his 
desire  to  purchase  a  farm  and  spend  his 
remaining  days  free  from  persecution 
which  the  Society,  known  as  Friends  or 
Quakers,  had  been  subjected  to  in  Eng 
land. 

When  Arabella  was  left  on  his  hands, 
he  waited  for  what  he  thought  a  reason 
able  time  to  pass  for  her  father  to  reclaim 
her,  then  he  quietly  said:  "I  will  do  no 
more  to  find  the  man,  hid  on  land  or  sea, 
for  a  purpose.  The  child  is  happier  with 
thee,  Martha.  Thou  wilt  find  thou  hast 
much  comfort  in  her,  thinkest  thou?" 

"Yes,  thou  art  far  better  to  keep  the 
S3 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

child  than  her  father.  For  me,  I  am 
fond  of  the  care  of  the  little  girl,  who 
prattles  all  day  long,  sometimes  in  French. 
The  child  must  have  been  with  educated 
people,  for  she  uses  only  the  best  Eng 
lish.  I  do  not  understand  it.  The  box 
her  father  left  contained  only  the  most 
simple  clothing.  Strange  mystery  that 
has  fallen  to  thee  and  me." 

To  this  remark,  Hezekiah,  the  Friend, 
only  replied:  "Do  by  the  child  as  though 
she  were  thine." 

And  so  Arabella  was  adopted. 

At  Chadd's  Ford,  on  the  Brandywine, 
lived  Hezekiah's  son,  Daniel,  and  here 
his  father  and  sister,  with  the  little  girl, 
remained  while  looking  about  for  a  de 
sirable  farm.  At  last  one  that  seemed  to 
meet  the  principal  requirements  was  dis 
covered.  It  was  about  three  miles  from 
the  Ford  and  the  Quaker  meeting-house, 
and  the  daughter  said,  "Father,  thou 
canst  see  how  easy  it  will  be  for  the  little 
girl  and  myself  to  walk  to  meeting  and  to 
see  Daniel,  and  thou  canst  drive  to  Phila- 
54 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

delphia  when  thou  wishest  for  special 
guidance  from  the  larger  body  of  Friends." 
This  decided  the  question  under  discus 
sion,  and  after  a  few  repairs  were  made 
the  family  moved  into  the  farm-house. 

Martha  and  Arabella  did  the  work,  and 
it  was  a  slow  process  unpacking  the  heavy 
boxes,  but  at  last  everything  was  in  order. 
Arabella  looked  about  her,  and,  as  the 
Quakeress  stood  on  tip-toe  with  a  cloth 
in  hand,  wiping  the  dust  from  the  high 
posts  of  the  bed,  she  said:  "Now,  wee 
one,  we  are  all  through  arranging  the 
things  it  seemeth  good  for  us  to  have." 

"Martha,  is  this  all  thou  hast?" 

"All,  child!  What  dost  thou  expect? 
Didst  thou  have  more?" 

"Oh,  yes,  it  was  so  beautiful  in  my 
mamma's  chateau." 

Martha  turned  suddenly,  holding  the 
cloth  as  high  as  her  arm  would  reach, 
and  forgetting  to  let  her  heels  touch  the 
stool  on  which  she  stood,  exclaimed: 

"Chateau!  Arabella,  what  dost  thou 
mean?"  Then  seeing  her  consternation, 
55 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

she  added:  "Never  mind,  I  will  keep  my 
word  to  thee  and  ask  thee  no  questions." 

And  as  she  stepped  down  from  the 
stool,  the  little  girl  walked  out  of  the 
house,  and  the  Quakeress'  soliloquy  ran 
thus:  "That  child,  please  God,  will  some 
day  tell  what  she  knows,  for  I  am  of  the 
opinion  it  would  be  most  interesting  to 
thee,  Martha.  But  if  thou  keepest  to 
what  thou  art  called  to  do,  it  is  to  refrain 
from  curiosity ;  but  then  it  is  for  her  good 
I  desire  to  know,  I  think.  Still  Friend 
Zekiel  always  told  us  in  meeting  to  guard 
against  the  sin  of  being  called  to  find  out 
the  thing  thou  wantest  to  know,  rather 
than  the  things  good  for  thee  to  know.  I 
am  free  to  confess  I  am  curious  about  the 
child.  Thy  wisdom,  wee  one,  is  great  in 
keeping  thine  own  counsel.  Surely  thou 
hast  been  taught  the  right  and  wrong. 
That  is  why  thou  findest  it  so  easy  to  be 
a  Friend." 

Life  with  the  Quakers  passed  quietly. 
Arabella  did  not  seem  to  notice  their  pe 
culiarities.  She  was  clothed  now  in  her 

56 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Quaker  costume,  her  dress  extending 
down  to  her  ankles,  and  in  her  gray 
bonnet  and  cloak  there  was  nothing  to 
mark  her  other  than  a  born  Quaker,  un 
less  it  was  her  golden  curls  that  would 
find  their  way  out  of  the  sides  of  her 
bonnet.  These  were  the  cause  of  some 
family  disagreement. 

"Martha,"  said  her  brother,  Daniel, 
one  day,  sitting  where  his  sister  was 
spinning,  "I  feel  somewhat  called  to 
speak  to  thee  about  the  child  Arabella." 

"Well,  Daniel,  I  am  prepared  to  listen 
to  anything  thou  art  called  to  tell  me,  be 
lieving  thee  to  be  a  man  of  honest  pur 
pose,  although  somewhat  opposed  to 
the  child.  What  thou  wouldst  say  I  shall 
be  pleased  to  hear." 

"I  am  called,  I  believe,  to  tell  thee  it  is 
sinful  and  worldly  to  have  the  child  wear 
curls.  They  are  for  personal  adorn 
ment,  and  therefore  not  pleasing  to  the 
Lord.  Thou  canst  not  bring  the  child 
up  to  self-sacrifice  unless  thou  teachest  her 
simplicity." 

57 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Daniel,  I  have  thought  much  of  this, 
but  it  is  the  one  wish  of  Arabella  that 
they  be  left.  In  all  else  she  yields  will 
ingly.  Thinkest  thou  the  child's  feel 
ings  should  not  be  considered?" 

"Thy  sister  tells  me  children  ought  not 
to  have  a  way;  it  should  be  thy  way." 

"Daniel,  the  mother  of  thy  children 
may  be  in  the  right.  So  far  I  have  not 
been  led  to  think  with  thee.  I  will  give 
myself  up  to  the  direction  of  the  Lord  in 
this.  The  wee  one  said,  'Martha,  just 
let  me  keep  my  curls,  so  mamma  will 
know  me  if  she  comes.'  I  felt  the  spirit 
directed  me  not  to  offend  her.  Is  this 
all,  Daniel?"  as  he  seemed  to  fall  into 
meditation. 

"No,  thou  art  reprehensible  in  calling 
the  child  'Wee  One.'  Thou  knowest  it 
is  giving  thyself  up  to  worldly  ideas." 

"Daniel,  I  said  to  the  child  'Thou  art 
only  a  wee  one'  when  I  first  dressed 
her  in  the  Friends'  clothes.  Arabella 
said  'Call  me  that,  Martha;  it  is  prettier 
than  Arabella.'  And  so  I  did." 
58 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Thou  hast  admitted  that  vanity 
prompts  the  name." 

"Daniel,  I  will  only  call  her  'wee  one' 
when  I  am  very  much  moved  toward  the 
child,  if  thou  thinkest  I  do  wrong.  I  am 
convinced  that  my  great  desire  to  treat 
the  child  as  her  mother  did  is  in  no  way 
disobeying." 

As  the  Quakers  never  say  good-bye, 
brother  and  sister  parted  in  silence. 


59 


CHAPTER  IV 

It  was  now  spring,  and  Arabella  wan 
dered  out  among  the  wild  flowers,  gather 
ing  her  apron  full  for  the  beloved  Martha. 
One  day  she  ventured  a  long  distance 
from  the  house,  and  when  she  turned  to 
go  home  the  two  paths  that  lay  before 
her  were  as  one.  She  could  not  tell 
which  to  take. 

"Martha  will  be  so  troubled,"  she  said 
aloud;  "but  I  will  sit  down  on  this  tree 
stump  and  see  which  way  I  think  I  came. ' ' 

No  thought  of  fear  was  causing  those 
little  hands  to  tremble,  as  she  gathered 
the  blossoms  from  her  apron  and  arranged 
them.  The  last  one  was  picked  up,  then 
she  arose. 

"I  must  decide  which  way.  How  can 
I?"  Then,  suddenly,  "The  daisy  will  tell 
me." 

60 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  garland  was  laid  on  the  stump  of 
the  tree,  and  picking  a  wild  daisy  from 
the  field,  she  began,  "The — but  how  can 
I  tell  what  to  call  the  roads?  Martha  says 
the  oaks  are  fine ;  so  this  road,  with  the 
big  trees,  will  be  'the  oak  road,'  and  the 
other,  well — just  'the  other.'  Now,  I  will 
begin."  And  the  little  fingers  picked  the 
white  leaf,  ' '  The  oak  road ; ' '  the  next  leaf, 
"The  other  road;"  and  so  repeated  to 
the  last  petal,  which  came  off  at  the  words 
"The  oak  road."  Gathering  her  nosegay 
together,  she  started  to  return  that  way. 

A  few  minutes'  walk  brought  her  face  to 
face  with  a  boy,  evidently  several  years 
older  than  herself.  Each  stood  appar 
ently  unable  to  move.  Thus  confronted, 
the  boy  first  found  voice  to  speak. 

"Ho !  ho !  so  I  see  a  young  witch,  do  I ? 
Can  you  hear  through  that  bonnet?  Why 
don't  you  talk?  What's  your  name?" 

"Arabella." 

"You  have  got  a  tongue.  Say,  'spose 
you  sit  down  and  tell  me  some  witch 
stories." 

61 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  don't  know  any.  I  must  hurry 
home.  I  am  lost,  perhaps." 

"Who  are  those  flowers  for?" 

"Martha." 

"Who  is  Martha?  your  sister?" 

"No,  I  have  no  sister." 

"Any  brother?" 

"No,  I  have  nobody." 

"Gol!  that's  queer.  Who  is  Martha, 
then?" 

"The  Friend  I  live  with." 

"Who  put  those  clothes  on  you?" 

"Martha." 

"Take  off  that  queer  sun-bonnet,  and 
let  me  see  you;"  and  he  walked  up, 
untied  the  strings,  and  lifted  the  gray 
bonnet  from  her  head. 

"Jingo,  you  are  pretty.  What  makes 
you  wear  that  old  hood?" 

"It's  not  a  hood." 

"Well,  then,  the  horrid  old  blind  that 
shuts  you  in." 

"I  will  not  let  you  talk  so.  Martha 
wears  one,  too,  and  I  love  her;  so  there!" 

"Is  that  all  you  love?" 
62 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  love  these;"  and  she  held  out  her 
flowers. 

"Why?" 

'  'Cause  they  are  so  sweet  and  are  the 
field's  wild  visitors." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"I.  And  Martha  says  they  are  her 
friends,  too;  and  she  wants  them  all  the 
time  they  are  here,  for  they  don't  come 
often."  And  then  in  a  sorrowful  tone, 
"They  don't  stay  long;  they  die." 

The  boy  looked  in  a  half-quizzical  way, 
as  he  said,  "You  arc  queer;"  and  then 
asked,  "Where  do  you  get  them?" 

"Way  over  the  hill." 

"My  mother  is  so  sick.  I  wish  I  had 
found  some  to  take  home." 

"Oh!  give  these  to  her." 

"What  will  Martha  say?" 

"Just  'That  was  right,  wee  one;  think 
of  others  before  thou  dost  of  thyself,' 
that  is  all;"  and  holding  out  the  flowers, 
"Wilt  thou  have  them?" 

The  boy  still  held  her  bonnet,  swinging 
it  by  one  string. 

63 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Say,  you  are  a^vful  queer.  I  wish  my 
mother  could  see  you.  Where  do  you 
live?" 

"Just  this  way,  I  think,  is  Friend 
Hezekiah's  farm." 

"Well,  I'll  be  plagued  if  you  do  not 
live  on  the  farm  adjoining  us." 

"Oh,  then  thou  canst  show  me  the  way 
home.  Wilt  thou?" 

"Yes,  come  along." 

"And,  p'r'aps  thou  wouldst  like  me 
to  take  this  nosegay  to  thy  mother. 
Martha  says  we  must  visit  the  sick. 
May  I?" 

"Yes,  come  along.      I  say " 

"Oh,  my  bonnet." 

"Leave  it  off  while  I  am  with  you. 
Arabella,  did  you  say  your  name  was?" 

"Yes,  but  Martha  says  to  keep  my 
bonnet  on." 

"But  you  see  I  want  to  look  at  you." 

"And  Martha  says  'Thou  must  not  be 
looked  at.'  So,  now,  just  give  me  my 
bonnet." 

"S'pose  I  won't;  what  then?" 
64 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Nothing,  only  I  will  go  away,  and 
Martha  will  pray  for  thee." 

' '  I  like  that.  Will  you  leave  me  the 
bonnet?" 

"Yes,  'cause  Martha  says  we  must  lose 
what  we  have  rather  than  —  well,  it 
means  just  the  same  as — fight." 

"Well,  Arabella,  as  we  are  neighbors, 
we  must  not  fight ;  so  take  your  bon 
net.  There  is  the  house.  See  my 
brothers?" 

"All  of  them  thy  brothers!  Oh,  my! 
and  I  have  not  one.  Dost  thou  s'pose 
thy  papa  would  give  one,  jus'  one,  to 
Martha." 

"Give  one  of  us  to  a  witch?" 

"What  is  that?" 

"Do  n't  you  know?" 

"No,  I  never,  never  heard,  truly." 

;<Then  you  better  not.  Why  do  n't 
you  ask  my  name?" 

"I  s'pose  it  's  Friend . " 

"Well,  just  s'pose  nothing  of  the 
sort.  We  are  not  Quakers." 

"Thou  art  not?  I  thought  every  one 
65 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

in  this  'new  world,'  as  Martha  calls  it, 
were  Friends." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  sis.  Do  n't  let  them 
fool  you." 

"Who  fools  me?" 

"The  Quakers." 

"They  don't  fool.  Martha  says  it  is 
not  pleasing  to  the  Lord." 

"She  does,  hey?  Well,  my  name  is 
Jack.  Just  wait  until  I  let  down  the 
bars." 

As  Arabella  said  "Never  mind,"  she 
stooped  and  crept  beneath  them.  As 
she  stood  inside  the  grounds,  four  pairs 
of  boys'  eyes  were  riveted  on  her. 

"Hello,  Jack;  what  have  you?" 

The  four-year-old  echoed,  "Hot  'as 
you,  Yak?" 

"Keep  still,  can't  you?  Let  the  girl 
alone.  Go  in." 

"A  girl,  did  you  say,  Jack?" 

"Oh,  Jack,  I  never  saw  so  many 
brothers.  Martha  has  jus'  Daniel.  I 
better  go  home." 

"Come  on,  Arabella,  and  give  the 
66 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

flowers    to   my   mother.     You   know  the 
Quakeress  would  tell  you  to." 

"Oh,  yes;  and  she  says  when  we  are 
afraid,  we  are  only  but  jus'  selfish,  think 
ing  of  ourselves." 

"Go  on,  boys.  Come  Arabella,"  and 
he  led  her  into  a  large  room,  where,  re 
clining  on  snowy  white  pillows,  was  the 
mother  of  Jack. 

"Come  on,  I  say;"  and,  as  she  hung 
back,  "don't  be  afraid."  He  took  her 
hand.  "Mother,  this  is  the  little  Quak 
eress  that  lives  on  the  next  farm." 

The  invalid  put  out  her  hand. 

"Little  girl,  I  am  pleased  to  see  you. 
Are  you  well?" 

"Yes,  thank  thee.  Jack  said  that  thou 
dost  like  flowers.  Wilt  thou  take  this 
nosegay?" 

"With  delight,  child,  if  you  can  spare 
it.  And  I  thank  you  so  much  for  think 
ing  of  me.  I  hope  that  great  big  boy 
did  not  ask  for  them.  Were  they  gath 
ered  for  your  mother?" 

"My  mamma  is  not  here." 
67 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Where  is  she,  dear?" 

"Oh,  so  far  over  the  sea.  You  do  n't 
speak  like  Martha,  dost  thou?" 

"Do  you  mean  as  the  Quakers  do? 
No,  dear,  we  are  not  Quakers,  but  you 
do  not  always  say  thou,  I  notice." 

"No,  Martha  wants  me  to,  but  I 
forget  sometimes.  Thou  talkest  just 
like  my  mamma.  I  like  to  listen ;  say 
more." 

A  severe  attack  of  coughing  seized  the 
invalid,  that  caused  Jack  to  lead  her  vis 
itor  from  the  room. 

"If  my  mother  uses  her  voice  much, 
she  is  troubled  in  this  way.  You  can 
come  again  to-morrow ;  will  you  ?' ' 

"If  Martha  is  willing.  What  are  all 
those  names?"  pointing  to  the  brothers 
of  Jack. 

"You  act,  Arabella,  as  if  you  had 
never  seen  a  boy  before." 

"I  haven't  seen  so  many.      They  look 

just  like  trees.      I  will  call  thee  the  Oak; 

the  next  size,  the  Elm ;  that  boy  with  the 

freckles  on  his  face,  oh!  he  is  the  Bass; 

68 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

and  the  next  one  is  so  tidy,  he  is  the 
Spruce;  and  the  tiny  one  is  the  Maple, 
'cause  he  looks  jus'  like  maple  sugar." 

"Where  did  you  learn  the  names  of  the 
different  trees?" 

"Friend  Hezekiah  told  me  all  'bout 
them." 

"Now,  can  you  remember  which  is 
which?" 

"I  can  tell  about  them, truly." 

"Shall  I  take  you  home?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Come  and  see  Martha,  all 
of  you,  will  you?" 

"Some  other  time  we  will  go  and  see 
you.  Don't  get  lost  again  over  the  mea 
dow,"  said  Elm. 

Jack  and  Arabella  walked  to  Heze- 
kiah's,  each  relating  the  adventures  of 
the  day.  As  they  neared  the  house  the 
Quakeress  came  to  the  door. 

"Why,  wee  one,  where  hast  thou 
been?" 

"Martha,  wilt  thou  speak  to  the  Oak 
first." 

Jack  looked  confused. 
69 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"My  name  is  Jack.  The  little  girl 
lost  her  way  to-day,  and  I  brought  her 
home." 

"Thank  thee,  very  much,  Jack.  Wilt 
thou  come  in?" 

"My  mother  will  be  looking  for  me. 
It  is  time  to  milk  the  cows." 

"Oh,  Martha,  the  Oak's  mother  is  so 
ill!  Wilt  thou  go,  too,  some  day  and  see 
her?" 

"If  the  boy's  mother  wishes  it  I  shall 
be  very  glad  to  take  her  some  home  deli 
cacy.  Thinkest  thou,  Jack,  thy  mother 
would  see  a  Friend?" 

"Oh,  certainly.  My  mother  is  some 
times  very  lonely.  I  often  find  her  cry 
ing." 

"Oh,  go  soon!  Thou  wilt  wipe  her 
tears  away.  Thou  didst  mine;"  and  the 
child,  taking  the  Quakeress'  hand,  laid 
it  against  her  lips.  "I  love  thee,  Martha. 
May  the  Oak  love  thee,  too?" 

"Jack  will  not  come  to  see  us  again  if 
thou  makest  so  free." 

"Yes,  he  will,  'cause  thou  didst  ask 
70 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

him.  Tell  thy  mother  that  I  will  bring 
Martha,  wilt  thou  Oak?" 

As  the  boy  left  them  he  bade  them 
good-night;  and  he  felt  a  lack  of  friend 
liness  that  he  heard  no  response.  He 
had  gone  a  short  distance  when  Ara 
bella's  voice  reached  him. 

"Oak!  Oak!"  Returned.  "I  am  ever 
and  ever  and  EVER  so  glad  I  found  the 
Oak.  Dost  thou  hear?" 

He  waved  his  hand  and  smiled  as  he 
plodded  on. 


CHAPTER  V 

One  year  had  passed  since  Arabella 
took  up  her  abode  with  the  Quakeress. 
Changes  had  taken  place  around  the 
farm ;  other  neighbors  had  come,  two 
families  of  Quakers  among  them.  Jack's 
mother  had  died,  and  he  now  found  him 
self  the  main-stay  of  his  father  in  the  care 
of  the  family.  Martha  was  of  great  as 
sistance  in  directing  and  advising,  and 
the  little  girl  was  the  confidant  of  them 
all.  She  heard  the  story  of  imaginary 
injustice,  of  burned  potatoes,  of  soured 
cream,  of  wet  kindling,  of  father's  dis 
comforts,  and  the  longing  for  the 
mother's  care.  Here  lay  the  secret  tie 
that  knit  their  hearts  together.  No 
matter  what  the  trouble  was,  when  Ara 
bella  came  in  sunshine  followed. 

To  the  importunities  of  Henry — other- 
72 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

wise,  Maple  —  to  "Jus'  be  mine  side, 
pease,  Airbella, "  she  kissed  him  with  the 
remark,  ''I  go  round  all  sides,  Maple." 

Then  Jack  took  the  gray  bonnet  be 
tween  his  hands  and  said,  "Plague  the 
thing!  I  would  have  one,  too,  if  I  could 
get  my  head  into  that  poke." 

Then  the  little  girl  drew  the  bonnet 
close  over  her  face  and  said,  "Oak,  please 
be  good;"  and  he  replied,  "It  is  mean  to 
plague  a  girl." 

These  were  happy  days  to  the  children, 
in  which  they  wove  a  life  history  that  was 
guileless  and  free  from  bitter  envy  and 
longing  greed  for  gain.  Nature  had 
spread  a  lap  of  luxury  and  given  the  pure 
fountain  from  which  they  drank.  No 
artificial  splendor  satiated  their  young 
hearts,  but  contentment  rested  in  their 
souls.  It  was  left,  perhaps,  for  their 
posterity  to  learn  the  misery,  the  heart 
burnings  of  those  dissatisfied  ones  who 
strive  and  fail. 

But  the  children  went  on  patching  the 
trousers  and  tilling  the  soil,  all  heedless 
73 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

of  the  conflict  in  which  they  were  destined 
to  take  an  active  part. 

One  day,  when  Arabella  and  Jack  were 
sitting  on  the  back  porch,  he  looked 
down-hearted. 

"What  is  it  that  makes  thee  so  sad? 
Wilt  thou  tell  me?" 

"Arabella,  my  father  says  there  is  sure 
to  be  war,  that  the  air  is  full  of  it,  and 
when  the  first  gun  is  fired  he  shall  be  pres 
ent.  Have  you  heard  anything  of  it?" 

"Oh,  Oak,  one  of  the  neighbors 
wanted  to  speak  to  Friend  Hezekiah 
about  some  trouble,  but  he  would  not 
listen,  for  he  said  war  was  sinful.  Mar 
tha  says  talk  brews  strife,  so  perhaps 
thou  and  I  best  not  speak  much  on 
the  subject.  Art  thou  of  the  same 
mind?" 

"No,  I  don't  believe  I  am,  Arabella. 
There  is  a  mighty  sight  of  difference  be 
tween  vold  folks  and  young. 

"I  s'pose  so." 

"You  s'pose,  and  I  know." 

"Martha  knows,  and  I  jus'  s'pose. 
74 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Dost  thou  think  thou  art  big  enough  to 
know,  Jack?" 

"Well,  I  know  it  's  hard  on  a  boy  to 
have  no  one  to  talk  to.  Pap  just  ex 
pects  me  to  listen  when  he  has  anything  to 
say,  as  he  believes  children  should  be 
seen  and  not  heard.  I  don't  stand  any 
show  with  pap." 

"What  kind  of  pap?  Is  it  something 
good?" 

"Oh,  you  are  a  real  greeny!  Pap  is 
the  short  with  boys  for  father." 

"I  am  glad  thou  didst  tell  me,  'cause 
I  never,  never  did  hear  it  before.  I 
s'pose  I  do  n't  know  much.  Does  that 
mean  'greeny?'  ' 

"That  is  what  boys  call  it,  but  some 
green  things  are  smacking  good,  and  you 
are  one  of  the  some." 

"Am  I?" 

' '  Now  see  here,  Arabella ;  it  is  enough  to 
break  a  boy  all  up  to  have  no  one  to  talk  to. " 

"Oh,  Oak,  talk  all  thou  wilt  if  thou 
won't  'breakup;'  'cause  what  should  I 
do  if  thou  shouldst  'break  up'?  If  thou 
75 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

dost  feel  bad  about  it,  jus'  talk,  and  if  I 
don't  answer  it  won't  brew." 

Jack  grasped  his  hat,  and  threw  it  up 
with  a  hurrah. 

"You  are  more  fun  than  a  boy, Arabella. 
The  British  are  bound  to  own  us;  and 
pap  says  we  have  not  worked  for  nothing 
in  a  new  country ;  that  it  is  tax,  tax,  TAX, 
rule,  rule,  RULE,  and  that  America  should 
have  freedom.  I  wish  I  could  go  too." 

"Oh,  Oak,  what  would  become  of  lit 
tle  Maple  and  all  the  others?" 

"Leave  them  with  you.  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  shirking  my  duty  when  my  father 
quotes  the  words  of  Patrick  Henry,  'I 
know  not  what  course  others  may  take, 
but  as  for  me,  give  me  liberty  or  give  me 
death.'  " 

"Oh,  Oak,  this  is  dreadful!  But  I 
forgot;  if  I  talk  it  will  brew." 

"Arabella,  pap  has  been  to  the  First 
Continental  Congress  assembled  at  Car 
penter's  Hall,  Philadelphia,  and  he  has 
come  home  ready  for  war.  I  should  not 
wonder  if  he  went  at  any  time." 
76 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Oak,  what  is  a  Tory?" 

"A  lover  of  the  oppression  of  Great 
Britain." 

"I  am  a  Tory,  Oak." 

"You  are?" 

"Yes.  Why  dost  thou  look  so  cross? 
Thou  lookest  just  savage.  Friend  Heze- 
kiah  is;  so  am  I." 

"Then  you  are  not  my  friend.  You 
had  better  go  back  to  England." 

"Now,  thou  seest,  Oak,  jus'  quick  as 
two  talk  it  is  jus'  like  Martha  says,  it 
'  brews.'  What  art  thou,  Oak?" 

"A  Whig,  of  course,"  with  a  look 
of  disdain  on  his  face. 

"A  wig!"  Then  came  a  merry 
laugh.  "That  is  worse  on  thee  than  my 
bonnet  thou  talkest  of  so  much." 

"Goosie,  I  did  not  say  'wig';"  but 
she  could  not  be  silenced. 

"Then  Hezekiah  is  a  wig.  Yes,  he  is. 
I  saw  him  put  it  on.  And  thou  art  one 
too?  Oh,  Oak,  it  is  worse  than  the 
bonnet.  I  can  take  it  off;  thou  darest 
not." 

77 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Arabella,  listen  to  me.  I  did  n't  say 
'wig';  I  said  Whig.  It  means  a  man 
who  loves  his  freedom,  his  own  country, 
that  he  has  suffered  so  much  for.  It 
means  that  a  Tory  can  not  trample  on 
our  rights  without  meeting  resistance." 

"Wilt  thou  resist,  Oak?" 

"You  just  be  sure  I  will.  If  I  were  a 
man  I  would  be  up  in  Boston  now.  The 
tea  ships  have  been  sent  home  from  Phil 
adelphia  already,  and  in  Boston  they 
emptied  the  tea  into  the  sea,  because 
they  would  not  pay  the  tax." 

"Oh,  how  Martha  would  like  to  have 
gone  up  and  got  some  before  they  threw 
it  away.  Well,  Oak,  I  don't  know  what 
I  am,  'twixt  thee  and  Martha.  I  shall 
see  which  way  I  am  moved.  I  am  going 
now,  Oak,  but  I  'spect  I  best  not  tell 
war  stories  to  Martha.  Anyway  not  till 
I  have  been  moved.  Now,  do  n't  go  off 
to  Boston  before  I  see  thee.  Wilt  thou 
promise?" 

"Oh,  I  can  not  leave  the  children  if 
father  goes." 

78 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Well,  Oak,  jus'  let  father  go,  and  I 
will  help  with  Elm,  Bass,  Spruce,  and 
Maple,  and  thou  canst  look  after  the 
farm.  That  's  Martha;  I  must  go." 

"Good-night,  Arabella.  I  say,  good 
night,  Arabella.  Why  don't  you  an 
swer?" 

"Martha  says  thou  must  not  say  it." 

"Why?" 

"Cause    Martha  says,    Friends    never 
must,"  she  called,  as  she  looked  back. 

"Why,  Arabella?" 

"  'Cause  we  do  n't,  that  's  why,"  and 
her  voice  was  lost  in  the  distance.  Then 
after  a  run,  she  changed  her  pace  to  a 
slow  walk,  and  the  little  voice  trembled 
as  she  said  aloud,  "I  wonder  if  I  am 
moved  to  tell  Martha  all  the  Oak  said 
about  wigs.  Yes,  it  was  wigs.  If  I  tell, 
Martha  will  feel  bad  'bout  Friend 
Hezekiah.  Then  Martha  says  'Don't 
tattle.'  Yes,  I  'm  moved  hard  to 
do  n't  tell,  'cause  it  's  tattle.  I  wonder 
who  moves  Friends  so  they  do  n't 
feel  it.  Martha  says,  sometimes  in 
79 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

meeting,  though,  they  shake  'cause  they 
are  moved  so  hard.  'Spect  I  do  n't, 
'cause  I  am  not  born.  That  's  what 
Martha  says.  I  forget  to  say  'thou' 
sometimes.  To  be  a  Friend  one  must  be 
born,  Martha  says.  I  am  so  glad  Martha 
was  born.  Wish  I  had  been,  then  I  could 
shake  too.  But  I  'm  moved  truly  not  to 
tell  'bout  Oak." 

On  reaching  home  Arabella  walked 
into  the  living-room,  and,  after  hanging  up 
her  bonnet,  went  to  find  the  Quakeress, 
who  was  in  the  kitchen. 

"Martha,  can  I  do  something  for 
thee?" 

"If  thou  wilt  gather  some  apples  I  will 
make  a  pie,  for  company  is  coming  to 
the  mid-day  meal,  and  then  do  thou  put 
a  clean  cloth  on  the  table.  Father  has  a 
friend  from  Philadelphia  with  him.  They 
are  at  Daniel's.  They  drove  over  and 
will  be  back  to  dinner." 

"Martha,  thou  lookest  sad." 

"Never  mind;  get  the  fruit  from  the 
orchard." 

80 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

When  Arabella  was  out  of  sight, 
the  Quakeress  fell  into  her  old  habit 
of  thinking  aloud.  "Friend  John  seem- 
eth  troubled  about  many  things.  The 
Americans,  he  says,  are  the  ones  to 
blame  for  the  disturbed  condition  of  this 
country.  These  people,  it  so  appears, 
do  not  like  George  III.,  and  they  call  his 
taxation  tyranny,  and  still  they  do  not 
think  it  amiss  to  persecute  the  Friends. 
There  is  no  doubt  but  that  the  Lord 
deems  it  best  for  them  to  have  this  dis 
cipline.  How  peaceful  it  might  have 
been  in  this  new  country  if  it  had  been 
given  to  Friends  and  Indians.  It  seem- 
eth  a  pity  thou  couldst  not  find  peace 
here,  father.  Thou  couldst,  but  for  the 
Whigs." 

Arabella  reached  the  kitchen  door  just 
in  time  to  hear  Martha's  father's  name 
coupled  with  what  she  thought  was ' '  wig. ' ' 

"Martha,  didst  thou  speak  of  Friend 
Hezekiah's  wig?" 

"No,  no.  It  seemeth  best  to  me  that 
thou  shalt  be  informed  of  some  things, 
81 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

now,  which  ought  to  be  beyond  thy 
years;  but  the  tumult  is  great,  and  thou 
must  hear  it,  and  it  is  best  from  me. 
There  are  men  in  this  new  world  that  are 
not  satisfied  with  all  they  have,  and  now 
want  to  deprive  George  the  Third,  King 
of  England,  of  his  taxes.  They  robbed 
the  Indian  of  his  home,  drove  him  out, 
and  thou  wilt  cry  when  thou  readest 
about  it.  And  now  the  Whigs  want  to 
rob  England." 

"People  who  wear  wigs  do  it,  didst 
thou  say,  Martha?" 

"It  is  not  wig,  I  tell  thee,  child.  It 
is  Whig." 

"Does  it  mean  the  way  a  man  is 
moved,  Martha?" 

"Yes,  child,  by  the  devil." 

"Martha  tell  me  'bout  him,  wilt  thou? 
I  never  heard  thee  speak  of  two  moves 
before.  Thou  hast  always  said,  'Child,  if 
thou  prayest  and  waitest,  thou  wilt  be 
moved  to  do  the  thing  pleasing  to  the 
Lord.' 

"That  is  the  trouble;  the  Whigs  did 
82 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

not  wait.  Do  thou  now  ask  no  more 
questions,  but  put  the  cloth  on  the  table. 
When  thou  hast  done  that,  get  out  the 
best  china;  for  the  Friend  who  so  hon 
ors  us  is  in  close  Friendship  to  a  Tory 
named  Howe.  It  is  from  Friend  John 
all  news  of  these  disturbances  come. 
The  city  of  Philadelphia  is  threatened  by 
such  heresy  as  asking  one  that  is  called 
a  minister — his  name  is  Duche — to  open 
war  with  prayer.  Run  away,  wee  one, 
now,  and  do  as  I  bid  thee.  I  am  given 
to  too  much  speaking  through  temporal 
excitement.  Do  thou  forget  it,  child. 
It  is  not  good  for  thee  to  be  too  wise. 
Innocence  and  simplicity  are  much  to 
be  desired." 

As  the  two  were  progressing  with  the 
dinner,  Friend  Hezekiah,  with  Friend 
John,  returned. 

"Thou  wilt  sit  here,  if  thou  art  willing, 
in  the  shade,  while  thou  dost  rest  from 
the  ride." 

"Friend  Hezekiah,  there  is  no  rest  for 
thee  and  me.  While  thou  canst  not 
83 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

shed  blood,  thou  and  I  can  so  act  as  to 
aid  the  Crown.  Tory  thou  art." 

Arabella's  ears  were  opened  wide. 
"Hezekiaha  Tory!  Then  it  was  not 
his  wig!" 

And  John  continued,  "Tory  thou  wilt 
always  be.  That  Whig,  Otis,  with  his 
ideas  of  rights,  is  stirring  up  great  strife." 

"But  I  cannot  help  it.  I  have  ap 
peared  in  supplication,  but  do  not  seem 
to  be  convinced ;  so  will  not  ally  myself 
to  either  side." 

"But  listen,  canst  thou,  to  the  courage 
of  the  man,  if  he  think  to  conquer  the 
King  of  England?" 

"Thou  must  pity  the  disappointment 
time  will  bring." 

"Father  wilt  thou  and  Friend  John  be 
seated  at  our  simple  meal?" 

"Martha,"  said  Friend  John,  "I  have 
not  often  been  so  blessed,  since  the  Lord 
called  Sarah  away,  as  to  sit  down  where 
women  folk  were.  Thou  hast  brought 
light  into  thy  father's  home,  of  which 
thou  must  be  ever  mindful."  As  Ara- 
84 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

bella  took  her  seat,  he  continued,  "And, 
Martha,  thou  still  feelest  called  upon  to 
keep  the  child,  dost  thou?" 

"Friend  John,  Arabella  is  mine. 
Father  has  so  felt  called  to  give  her  to 
me." 

"And  if  thou  shouldst  join  thy  life, 
Martha,  with  another,  wouldst  thou  still 
feel  called  to  keep  the  foundling?" 

"If  thou  feelest  pleased  to  be  remind 
ed,  I  think  this  an  unfitting  time  to  talk 
about  these  conditions  of  life.  They 
have  not  been  in  my  thoughts." 

"Might  they  not  be  in  thy  thoughts, 
Martha,  if  thou  wouldst  permit  thyself  to 
be  moved  from  the  child,  who  seems  to 
fill  all  thy  mind?  Look  into  thy  heart 
and  see  if  there  is  not  some  one  who 
needs  thee  to  help  bear  the  burdens  the 
Lord  has  sent?" 

The  Quakeress'  glance  fell  upon  the 
little  girl,  whose  lips  were  white  and 
quievering.  She  sat  at  the  opposite  side 
of  the  table,  and  Martha  saw  what  she  had 
never  seen  in  the  youthful  face  before. 
85 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"If  thou  art  of  the  same  mind,  I 
should  like  to  ask  thee  somewhat  of  the 
feeling  of  the  Friends  in  Philadelphia. 
It  is  long  since  father  has  felt  that  the  ride 
could  be  safely  taken  up  to  the  city,  for 
his  health  is  somewhat  poorly." 

"That  is  what  I  feel,  Martha,  should 
lead  thee  to  consider  the  state  of  union. 
I  feel  thou  wouldst  not  be  so  blind  spirit 
ually,  if  it  were  not  that  thou  art  so 
affected  by  the  foundling,  who  seems  to 
have  led  thee  from  thy  people  and  from 
the  natural  call  of  woman's  heart,  a  com 
panion." 

Then  Arabella  pushed  back  her  chair, 
and  slid  out  of  it. 

"Yes,  I  am  moved.  Thou  didst  move 
me.  Thou!"  pointing  her  finger  at 
Friend  John. 

"Arabella!     Arabella!" 

"Martha,  I  must  speak,  'cause  I  am 
moved.  He  is  a  mean  old  John.  I 
wish  I  was  a  wig,  and  I  'd  kill  you.  Yes, 
I  would,"  addressing  John,  "so  thou 
couldst  not  get  Martha.  That  is  jus'  why 
86 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

thou   wantest  to  get  Martha  away  from 
me,  so  thou  canst  have  her,  too." 

"Arabella!"  The  Quakeress  was  at 
her  side.  "Hush!  thou  must  not,"  as 
she  tried  to  lead  her  away. 

"Don't!  I  am  not  through  being 
moved!  Wilt  thou  let  me  finish,  Mar 
tha?  I  will  pray  every  night,  John,  the 
wigs  will  get  thee.  Yes  I  will.  Then 
thou  wilt  be  a  foundling  too,  only  thou 
wilt  not  have  Martha." 

As  the  Quakeress  reached  the  door 
and  forced  the  child  out,  she  following 
her,  Arabella  screamed,  "The  wigs  will 
get  thee,  so  there,  and  give  thee  to  the 
fishes." 

Alone  with  the  child,  Martha  took  her 
in  her  arms. 

"Oh,  what  hast  thou  done?  Thou 
hast — 

Then  Arabella's  arms  were  around  her 
neck.  "But  I  love  you  so;  dost  thou 
love  me?"  The  large,  dreamy  eyes,  full 
of  tears,  were  turned  upon  her.  "Dost 
thou,  Martha?" 

87 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Thou  knowest  I  do,  wee  one.  Better 
than  any  other  living  thing,  I  love  thee." 

"Then,  Martha,  I  am  sorry  thou  hast 
to  reprove  me.  But  if  thou  must,  let  it 
be  jus'  to  sit  and  look  at  John,  and  pre 
tend  I  am  not  moved.  Truly,  Martha, 
that  will  be  the  very  worst  reproving,  and 
I  shall  be  punished  dreadfully.  But  be 
cause  thou  lovest  me,  I  will  even  do  that 
for  thee,  so  thou  wilt  feel  thou  hast  done 
what  is  for  my  good  and  for  thy  con 
science,  as  thou  hast  told  me." 

"Thou  must  apologize  to  Friend  John. 
He  is  in  my  father's  house.  Thou  must 
not  only  always  be  just,  but  thou  must 
bear  injustice,  especially  when  the  Friend 
is  thy  neighbor  in  heart  and  at  thy  table. 
Thou  must  tell  Friend  John  thou  art 
sorry. 

"Martha,  wouldst  thou  teach  me  to 
lie?" 

"Arabella!"  Terror  was  apparent  in 
the  Quakeress'  face.  "Thou  hast  lost 
all  love  for"  — 

"No,  don't  say  for  thce!  I  could  not 
88 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

bear  that.  Thou  shouldst  not  ask  me  to 
lie.  Thou  hast  taught  me  it  is  the  cow 
ard's  sword,  and  always  used  from  the 
back.  It  cuts,  but  it  is  never  seen." 

"I  did  not  tell  thee  to  lie." 

"Thou  toldest  me  to  tell  John"- 

"Say  Friend." 

"He  is  not  my  friend.  He  is  only 
mean  John,  and  I  am  not  sorry.  I  am 
glad  I  told  him." 

"Hush,  I  will  leave  thee  here.  I 
must  go  to  the  table." 

"Wilt  thou  let  me  tell  John  I  am  sorry 
I  hurt  thy  feelings?" 

"That  is  not  enough,  child." 

"What  dost  thou  s'pose  Friend  Heze- 
kiah  will  think?" 

"That  thou  hast  been  very  unkind  to 
his  friend,  that  came  to  visit  him;  and 
thou  mayest  make  thy  Friend  Hezekiah 
afraid  to  bring  any  one  else  here." 

"Would  he?  Dost  thou  s'pose  that 
he  would  take  me  and  leave  me  like  my 
papa  did?" 

"No   child,    never.      Thou    art    mine. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

But  thou  hast  hurt  him  sorely,  I  am 
sure." 

''Wilt  thou  take  me  back  with  thee?  I 
want  my  dinner,  and  I  'm  convinced  'bout 
Friend  Hezekiah." 

Leading  the  child  by  the  hand,  the 
young  Quakeress  again  opened  the  door 
into  the  dining-room.  Arabella,  when  she 
drew  near  the  table,  gave  a  straight  look 
into  John's  face — her  expression  said 
"Do  n't  say  it  again."  She  went  to  the 
old  man  who  had  protected  her,  and 
threw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  exclaim 
ing  "My  very  best  friend  Hezekiah,  do 
forgive  me  for  being  rude  at  thy  table !  I 
will  never,  never  do  it  again.  Thou  art 
so  good  to  me.  Thou  givest  me  all  I 
have  to  eat,  and  didst  take  me  from  the 
boat-man,  and  gave  me  to  thy  Martha. 
Now  she  is  mine  and  thine.  I  am  so 
sorry.  Dost  thou  forgive  me  that  I  hurt 
thee?"  She  turned  her  face  to  his. 
"Dost  thou  forgive  me?" 

"Yes,  child;  eat  thy  dinner  in  silence," 
which  command  was  obeyed  to  the  letter. 
90 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  conversation  that  had  been  inter 
rupted,  seemed  to  be  taken  up  at  that 
point. 

"Yes,  these  rebels  will  get  enough. 
British  soldiers  will,  if  necessary,  mow 
them  down." 

"Friend  John,  dost  thou  feel  there  is 
justice  in  this  action?" 

"I  feel  that  our  friends  have  been  per 
secuted." 

"I  wish  that  we  had  some  one,  who 
could  take  the  place  of  Friend  William 
Penn,  and  reason  with  these  people, 
even  as  he  did  with  the  Indians,  who 
listened  to  the  word  of  God  and  about 
heaven.  Thou  wilt  remember  the  trea 
ties,  kept  by  the  strings  of  wampum,  were 
never  broken.  Thou  canst  see  if  thou 
couldst  only  influence" — 

"Friend  Hezekiah,  the  British  mean 
fight,  and  thou  must  see  some  cause,  for 
thou  art  a  man  of  wisdom  and  learning, 
and  so  considered  in  the  quarterly  meet 
ing.  Thou  must  keep  in  readiness  to  aid 
the  British  whenever  they  appear,  and  to 
91 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

keep   from   thy   door  such  Americans  as 
would  ask  alms." 

"Friend  John,  thinkest  thou  this  is  in 
keeping  with" — 

"Think  thou  nothing  that  is  disloyal 
to  George  the  Third  and  Great  Britain. 
Patrick  Henry,  if  the  Tories  can  but 
capture  him,  will  be  sent  to  England 
and  made  to  answer  for  treason  to  the 
king." 

Hezekiah's  face  was  crimson  as  they 
left  the  table,  and  his  daughter  had  much 
difficulty  to  keep  up  a  show  of  hospital 
ity.  She  tried  to  convince  herself  she 
felt  Friend  John  in  the  right  on  the  war 
question,  but  her  feelings  were,  perhaps, 
more  fully  defined  in  her  reply  to  an  in 
quiry  from  Arabella. 

"Martha,  thou  toldest  me  much  talk  of 
wars  and  fighting  would  brew  trouble, 
didst  thou  not?" 

"Yes,  thou  hast  remembered  it  well." 

"And  thou  didst  tell  me  it  was  not 
pleasing  to  the  Lord?" 

"Yes." 

92 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Then  thou  knowest  John  is  not  agree 
able  to  the  Lord.  Is  he,  thinkest  thou?" 

"I  can  not  pass  an  opinion  on  so 
weighty  a  matter.  That  would  be  a  sub 
ject  to  lay  before  the  quarterly  meeting, 
if  thou  wert  old  enough  and  a  born 
Friend." 

"If  thou  wert  in  the  quarterly  meeting, 
and  I  were  born  and  old  enough,  wouldst 
thou  have  me  say  'Friend  John  is  a  man 
after  mine  own  heart  and  pleasing  to  me?'  ' 

"Child,  we  do  not  say  it  after  that 
manner." 

"But,  s'pose  we  did,  wouldst  thou  say 
that?" 

"Wee  one,  thou  art  too  old  for  thy 
years. 

"Wilt  thou  not  answer?  Please  do!" 
and  she  threw  her  arms  about  the  Quak 
eress'  waist,  as  she  stood  before  her. 

"No,  I  would  not  say  that.  Art  thou 
happy  now?  I  am  thy  Martha,  child." 

"Oh,  joy!  joy!  joy!  Thou  wilt  not 
go  to  take  care  of  John?" 

"Be  quiet.  Every  one  hath  a  right  to 
93 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

his  opinion.  Because  I  do  not  fully  be 
lieve  in  all  Friend  John  says,  it  is  no  rea 
son  he  is  not  right.  He  may  change  his 
views,  if  he  appears  in  supplication,  and 
the  troublesome  times  pass  over.  But 
you  see,  child,  all  this  talk  of  England's 
dues  and  America's  wrongs  is  continually 
brewing  trouble." 

The  rest  of  the  day  Arabella  spent  in 
household  cares,  and  when  John  drove 
away  from  the  farm  she  drew  a  sigh  of 
relief.  That  night  she  could  not  sleep; 
the  day  had  been  so  eventful.  Jack's 
revelations  and  her  home  experience  had 
made  her  old  in  wisdom.  While  thus  ly 
ing  quietly  in  her  room  adjoining  the  liv 
ing-room,  she  heard  Hezekiah  speaking. 

"Martha,  the  child,  Friend  John 
thinks,  ought  to  have  a  stronger  hand 
than  thine  to  guide  her.  He  fears, 
through  thee,  she  will  suffer  spiritually. 
He  is  so  inclined  to  believe  that  Puritans 
should  have  charge  of  her.  What  think- 
est  thou?  That  the  little  one  is  to  evil 
inclined?" 

94 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Arabella  lay  shivering.  What  would 
Martha  say? 

"Thou  hast  given  thy  word.  Arabella 
is  mine  and  thine.  I  love  to  watch  her 
childish  ways.  There  is  no  guile  in  them. 
Leave  her  to  thy  example,  thou  hast 
been  my  guide.  She  loves  me,  father, 
and  thee" 

The  little  hands  lay  mute  upon  the 
heaving  chest,  the  whispered  words  were 
uttered  out  of  an  overflowing  heart,  "I 
do  love  thee,  Martha." 

"Thou  dost  see,  Friend  John  has  a 
spiritual  guidance  toward  thee.  He 
would  join  thy  life  to  his,  and  thinks  thou 
mightst  serve  better  the  will  of  the  Lord 
together  than  walking  alone.  Thou 
didst  not  give  opportunity  or  thou 
wouldst  have  heard  from  him  his  convic 
tion,  that  appeareth  to  have  been  of  some 
time  standing.  What  thinkest  thou? 
John  is  a  faithful  follower.  Thou  mightst 
not  find  for  thy  companion  another  as 
worthy  thy  life." 

' '  If  thou  wilt  tell  John ,  it  is  well  he  hath 
95 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

confided  to  thee  his  thoughts ;  for  thou 
knowest  it  is  painful  to  wound  the  feel 
ings  of  a  friend.  But  the  call  seemeth 
not  to  have  reached  me.  I  only  feel  the 
need  of  Arabella  and  thee." 

"Thou  mayest  be  alone  some  day,  the 
child  gone,  and  the  allotted  time  for  thee 
and  me  to  be  together  passed.  Then 
thou  mightst  be  protected"- 

"No,  thou  wilt  not  press  this  subject. 
I  could  not  leave  thee  for  John.  Think- 
est  thou  not  he  is  somewhat  heated  in 
his  judgment  of  the  Whigs?" 

"All  men  are  not  by  nature  alike.  His 
ideas  and  mine  are  not  in  perfect  unison 
about  war.  There  is  something  to  be 
said  for  the  Americans.  My  judgment 
tells  me — but  thou  and  I  will  have  naught 
to  do  with  this  strife.  I  would  help  the 
sufferer  on  either  side,  if  he  came  to  my 
door." 

"I  am  much  pleased  to  hear  thee  speak 

thus.      I   fear  I   have  been  too  severe  in 

my  thought  of  the  rebels.    Friend  John's 

remarks  have  opened  my  eyes  to  see  how 

96 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

easy  it  is  to  err.     I  think  his  visit  hath 
taught  me  much." 

"  Martha,  dost  thou  not  think  it  would 
seem  pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord  to 
ask  at  meeting,  the  seventh  day,  what 
thou  hadst  best  do  to  overcome  the 
child's  violent  temper?  Friend  John 
doth  think  thou  art  very  wrong  in  man 
aging  her  according  to  thy  own  conceit. 
Thinkest  thou  it  would  be  wise  to  take 
counsel  of  the  Friends?  I  am  slow  to 
say  it,  but  the  idea  is  one  to  consider,  for 
I  am  somewhat  brought  to  see  that  the 
child  doth  stand  in  thy  light." 

"Nay,  father,  be  not  led  by  false 
prophets.  Arabella  can  not  come  under 
the  guidance  of  the  meeting,  for  she  has 
not  a  birthright  inheritance.  I  simply 
live  up  to  the  doctrine  of  befriending  all 
classes  and  conditions  without  regard  to 
consequences." 

"But  one  of  the  Puritans  might  be  will 
ing  to  take  her,  as  she  is  not  of  our  sect,  and 
then   there  would  be  no  call  upon  thee, 
for  she  would  be  well  provided  for." 
97 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"The  child  would  suffer  agony  if  taken 
from  me.  Thou  didst  give  her  to  me. 
Thy  word  was  passed  that  she  should  be 
mine.  The  word  of  a  Friend,  thou 
knowest,  can  not  be  broken.  Tell  this  to 
John  and  that,  as  thou  hast  so  spoken,  it 
can  not  be  undone;  the  child  is  mine." 

"Thy  heart  is  strangely  knit  to  the  lit 
tle  girl.  Suppose  the  Frenchman  should 
claim  her,  what  then?" 

"Thou  must  not  try  me  too  far.  He 
will  not  come.  I  am  so  moved  to  believe 
that  the  child  is  mine." 

"And  dost  thou  not  think  she  would 
leave  thee  to  go  to  the  man?" 

"Never;   I  tell  thee  she  is  mine." 

"So  be  it.  Mayest  thou  not  find 
trouble  from  thy  blind  love." 

Arabella,  from  this  hour,  felt  a  change 
toward  Hezekiah.  He  would  please  John 
if  Martha  would  permit  it.  But  tired 
with  listening  to  this  long  debate  about 
her,  she  fell  asleep,  conscious  that  Martha 
was  hers. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Life  at  the  farm  of  Friend  Hezekiah 
went  on  much  the  same  for  the  next 
month,  and,  as  the  Quakeress  had  taught 
Arabella  to  sew,  she,  with  her  consent, 
spent  one  day  each  week  with  Jack  and 
his  brothers,  doing  the  mending. 

"The  third  day,"  Martha  said,  "will 
be  the  most  desirable." 

Hezekiah  paid  little  or  no  attention  to 
the  friendship  of  the  child  for  the  boys. 
His  daughter,  in  her  simplicity,  never 
thought  to  ask  what  the  drift  of  their 
conversation  was,  supposing  it  to  be 
about  the  kneeless  trousers  or  toeless 
stockings,  from  the  samples  she  saw,  for 
when  the  case  was  too  desperate  for 
Arabella,  she  rolled  the  work  up,  and 
took  it  to  Martha  and  asked  for  her  help. 
99 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Autumn  had  now  set  in,  and  the  days 
of  cider  and  apples  and  pop-corn  and 
"nigger-toe"  nuts  had  come.  Pumpkin 
pies,  doughnuts,  and  the  salt-rising 
bread  often  found  their  way  from  Mar 
tha's  larder  to  Jack's.  She  kept  him 
supplied  with  yeast  cakes,  which  Maple 
called  cookies;  for  she  said,  "Jack,  do 
thou  not  try  salt-rising.  Thou  wilt 
waste  the  flour."  And  Arabella,  as  she 
entered  the  kitchen  one  frosty  morning, 
exclaimed,  "Martha  says  thou  must  only 
use  one  half,  dost  thou  understand?  Only 
one  half  of  this  yeast  cake  to  a  baking, 
'cause  they  are  extra  strong.  Dost  thou 
know  what  that  means,  Jack?" 

"Goosie,  of  course  I  do.  The  empty 
ings  might  taste  in  the  bread." 

"I  am  not  a  Goosie.  I  am  a  bird,  and 
that  is  the  reason  I  always  sit  by  thee, 
'cause  thou  art  the  Oak." 

"Arabella,  I  would  not  move  a  branch 
to  frighten  thee  away." 

"Oh,  thou  art  a  Quaker,  too?  Thou 
saidst  'thee.'  Yes,  thou  didst.  Now 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

thou  belongest,  but  thou  and  I  are  not 
born. ' ' 

"I  would  like  to  know  what  did  hap 
pen  then." 

"Why  don't  you  see,  when  we  are 
moved  and  say  thee  and  thou,  and — let 
me  think — oh,  yes,  and  thy,  then  we  'be 
long,'  but  we  are  not  'born.'  I  am  so 
glad,  Oak,  that  thou  dost.  Art  thou  glad 
thou  dost  'belong'  with  me?"  And,  as 
Jack  stooped  down  to  put  some  wood  on 
the  fire,  her  little  hand  rested  on  his 
head.  He  kept  his  position  a  moment, 
while  he  laid  his  hand  on  hers,  and  then 
she  placed  the  other  on  his. 

"Now  answer,  or  thou  canst  not  rise." 

"Say  what,  Birdie?" 

"That  thou  belongest  to  me,  too." 

"Yes,  I  do,  body  and  boots." 

"And  thy  hat,  too.  Thou  must  al 
ways  wear  it,  and  when  thou  goest  to 
meeting,  thou  must  not  take  it  off,  nor 
stay  on  my  side." 

"I  must  not.  Well,  just  see  here,  I 
am  on  your  side,  though." 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Well,  s'pose  we  jus'  don't  go  to 
meeting  anyhow,  'cause — I  '11  tell  thee 
why,  if  thou  wilt  just  keep  quiet — 'cause 
if  thou  dost  not,  we  '11  brew  sure  as  any 
thing,  'cause  I  brewed.  Yes,  I  did,"  as 
she  saw  a  smile  on  his  face. 

"Well,  tell  me  about  it." 

"  S'pose  I  will,  but  I  do  n't  think  I  am 
truly  moved,  but  I  want  to." 

"Well,  Birdie,  go  ahead.  But  see  this 
first." 

"Oh,  how  lovely!  A  little  pig!  How 
white  it  is." 

"It  is  for  Martha.  Do  you  think  she 
will  like  it?" 

"Oh, truly.  How  good  thou  art  to  think. 
I  wonder  if  all  boys  are  as  nice  as  thou?" 

"You  have  four  others  to  judge  from." 

"Oh,  yes,  but  then  I  like  them  'cause 
thou  art  their  brother.  Dost  thou  think 
thou  canst  ever  be  a  John?" 

Arabella  looked  sad.  Jack's  laughing 
hurt  her. 

"Martha  says  thou  must  not  laugh  in- 
or-di-nate-ly." 

102 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"In  what?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure  that  is  it,  'cause  Mar 
tha  told  me,  and  told  me  the  word,  and 
then  found  it  in  the  speller,  and  I  know 
that  's  it." 

"Why  did  Martha  say  you  must  not 
laugh  inordinately?" 

"Because  it  is  not  pleasing  to  the 
Lord  to  trifle." 

"Well,  Birdie,  as  thou  fearest  John,  it 
would  not  be  a  trifle  to  wake  up  and  find 
myself  Friend  John." 

"I  mean  when  thou  art  a  big  man,  wilt 
thou  be  like  him?" 

The  kitchen  door  opened,  and  Jack's 
father  came  in.  He  was  a  fine  specimen  of 
manhood,  tall  and  straight,  with  a  kindly 
Scotch-Irish  face.  He  led  little  Henry  by 
the  hand,  and  he  appeared  much  excited. 

"Father,  is  there  any  news?" 

"Yes,  Jack.  The  Second  Continental 
Congress  has  just  met  at  Philadelphia. 
It  voted  to  raise  twenty  thousand  men. 
I  am  one  of  them.  I  have  held  back  too 
long  now  for  my  country's  good,  because 
103 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

of  you  children.  Jack,  be  a  man.  You 
are  now  fifteen.  Look  after  your  broth 
ers  and  keep  the  red-coats  off  the  farm. 
If  you  hear  any  news  of  the  doings  of  the 
British  that  will  aid  your  country,  see  that 
our  army  gets  it,  if  you  walk  into  death 
to  deliver  it.  And,  Jack,  if  bad  comes 
to  worse,  leave  the  boys  with  this  little 
maiden,  and  take  your  gun  for  liberty. 
And  if  the  American  cause  needs  anything 
you  have,  give  it,  even  to  the  last  drop 
of  your  blood.  Now,  I  have  no  time  to 
lose."  And,  turning  to  Arabella:  "What 
say  you,  little  girl?  Your  family,  I  sup 
pose,  are  Tories.  So  you  may  not  be  al 
lowed  to  comfort  the  boys,  but,  as  Quak 
ers,  they  may  permit  it.  Do  n't  disturb 
your  people  with  war  records  from  here." 
"I  '11  do  jus'  as  the  Oak  tells  me." 
"But  you  must  obey  those  who  take 
care  of  you." 

"Yes,  I  do  obey  Martha.   Thou  know- 
est  she  is  good." 

"Well,  will  you  take  care  of  the  boys?" 
"Oh,  yes,   jus'  as  well  as  I  can.     And 
104 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

if  John  talks  any  more  about  wigs,  I'll 
run  and  tell  the  Oak." 

"Who  is  John?"  queried  Mr.  Allen. 

"Oh,  he  said,  'Kill  the  Yankees.' 
What  are  they?" 

"Why  Jack  and  the  other  boys." 

"Oh,  my!  then  I'll  watch  John  jus'  as 
close  as  I  can,  'cause  he  's  mean." 

"And  if  a  man  with  a  red  coat  comes, 
will  you  tell  Jack?"  he  said,  smiling  at 
her  earnestness. 

"Will  he  be  a  wig?" 

"No,  he  would  be  a  Tory." 

"A  Tory,"  she  repeated.  "Would  he 
kill  Patrick  Henry?" 

"Surely,  and  consider  England  owed 
him  a  debt  of  gratitude.  What  do  you 
know  about  Patrick  Henry?" 

"John  talked  about  him  and  Otis,  but 
I  must  be  brewing,  'cause  thou  lookest 
so  cross." 

"You  must  be  what?" 

' '  Martha  says  talking  of  war  brews  strife 
and  trouble." 

"Jack,  you  will  not  get  lonely  if  this 
105 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

little  girl  visits  you  often.  But  I  am  wast 
ing  precious  time.  It  means  to  horse  now 
as  quickly  as  possible." 

Jack  followed  his  father  to  his  room. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  as  he  took  some 
papers  from  a  drawer,  "guard  these,  and 
I  think  you  had  better  be  a  little  careful 
about  the  child  from  the  Quakers. 
They  are  not  in  sympathy  with  us,  and  it 
is  evident  they  have  Tory  friends." 

"Father,  she  would  die  before  harm 
ing  us." 

"Certainly,  my  son;  but  she  is  so 
guileless  that  it  may  be  spoken  of 
thoughtlessly.  Never  say  to  her  any 
thing  that  will  necessitate  implying,  do  n't 
tell,  or  keep  it  from  this  Martha  she 
talks  about.  Never,  even  for  the  sake  of 
your  country,  lead  an  unsuspecting  child 
into  such  trouble.  She  evidently  trusts 
you.  What  she  seems  willing  to  tell  of 
her  own  volition  is  one  thing.  Ask  her 
no  questions  the  Quakeress  might  not 
hear.  Be  a  man  of  honor  above  all 
things.  Now,  be  kind  and  watchful  of 
1 06 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

your  brothers,  and  I  will  let  you  hear 
from  me  as  the  opportunity  presents  it 
self." 

He  then  bade  a  tender  farewell  to  his 
children.  The  two  younger  were  in  pas 
sionate  grief.  The  strong  man  trembled, 
as  he  forced  them  from  him,  and  threw 
himself  into  the  saddle,  while  he  brushed 
the  tears  from  his  eyes. 

Arabella,  from  that  moment,  com 
menced  her  work  of  love.  She  soothed 
the  little  Henry  in  her  own  childish  arms, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  talked  to  Darius 
of  the  time  when  his  father  would  return. 

"Thou  must  jus'  think  he  has  gone  up 
to  the  city  to  buy  cows,  and  by-and-by 
he  will  come  back,  and  Bossie  will  give 
thee  nice  milk." 

"It  's  no  such  thing,  you  know;  so 
there,"  retorted  Darius. 

"Jus'  pretend." 

"No,  I  won't  pretend." 

"Well,  perhaps  it  's  best  not',  'cause 
Martha  says,  'Wishing  for  things  brews 
discontent.'  '  Then  with  words  of  com- 
107 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

fort  she  at  last  calmed  them.  "Thou 
hast  as  much  to  cry  for  as  I  have  now ; 
only  see,  I  do  n't." 

"Why?" 

'Cause  it  makes  Martha  feel  sad." 

"I  have  n't  any  Marfa.'v 

"Well,  thou  hast  me." 

"Will  you  be  our  Marfa?" 

"Yes,  I  '11  try,  Henry;  but  I  cannot 
be  as  good  as  the  really,  truly  one, 
'cause  she  is  'born'. 

In  spite  of  his  ill-concealed  grief,  Jack 
smiled. 

"Well,  Birdie,  you  are  born  enough 
for  us." 

Then  Joe  spoke  up.  "Do  you  s'pose 
the  Quakeress  would  let  you  stay  here 
all  the  time  this  winter,  while  pap 
is  away  and  Henry  has  the  croup  so 
often?" 

"Oh,  my!  Joe,  I  could  not,  'cause 
nights  I  must  see  Martha,  or  else  I — well, 
I  s'pose"  I  'd  cry  too.  Then  thou  wouldst 
not  want  me." 

"How  about  your  coming  every  day?" 
108 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

asked  the  morose  Fred,  who  almost  never 
talked  to  Arabella. 

"I  '11  do  that,  Bass,  true  as  thou  want- 
est  me." 

"Perhaps  she  won't  let  you,"  chimed 
in  Darius. 

"Yes  she  will,  when  I  tell  her  thou 
hast  no  mother,  and  thy  father  has  gone 
to  the  war." 

Oh,  the  temptation  in  Jack's  heart  to 
tell  her  not  to  say  why  or  where  his 
father  had  gone,  but  the  admonition  he 
had  just  received  had  sunk  deep  into  his 
heart.  He  only  said,  "I  hope  Martha 
will  let  you  come." 

"She  will,  'cause  she  is  good.  Thou 
dost  not  know,  'cause  thou  hast  no  Mar 
tha  that  's  'born  '." 

The  older  boys  felt  inclined  to  laugh 
at  her  odd  way  of  expressing  herself,  but 
their  hearts  had  grown  tender  toward  the 
little  girl  in  the  gray  dress  and  poke 
bonnet,  who  came  and  helped  them. 

"I  do  hope  you  will  be  here  every 
morning." 

109 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"S'pose  it  snows,  oh,  so  high?" 

"Look  here,  Birdie,  if  you  will  come 
over  here  every  day  this  winter, ' '  said 
Jack,  "the  first  thing  I  do  when  I  get 
up  will  be  to  shovel  a  path  for  thee." 

The  boys  shouted,  "Jack  's  a  Quaker 
too!  Hear  him  say  'thee!' 

"Well,  I  would  n't  wonder  much  if  we 
all  said  'Thee'  before  winter  is  gone," 
said  Darius. 

"Thou  jus'  make  the  path,  Oak,  and 
I  will  walk  in  it.  And  here  I  have  not 
done  any  of  the  mending  thou  hadst  for 
me,  'cause  thou  hadst  so  many  stirring 
things  going  on.  Martha  calls  this  sort 
of  a  day  a  distraction  day,  and  says 
'Child,  thou  must  work  the  harder  to 
morrow.' 

Arabella  put  the  gray  bonnet  on  as 
the  sun  began  to  hide  behind  the  hills. 

"Birdie,  I  will  go  over  to  the  farm 
with  thee,  and  carry  the  present." 

So  the  two  started  off.  Jack  shifted 
his  load  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other. 

"Oak,  let  me  help  thee  carry  it." 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"You,  a  girl,  carry  a  pig." 

"Martha  says  'We  must  bear  each 
other's  burdens,'  and  she  do  n't  say  any 
thing  'bout  girls  need  n't.  So  now, 
please  give  it  to  me." 

"Not  a  bit  of  a  pig  do  you  carry  when 
I  am  along,  or  any  other  burden,  if  I  can 
help  it." 

When,  at  the  door,  Arabella  pulled  the 
latch-string. 

"Go  in,  Oak." 

The  Quakeress  stood  by  the  table. 
She  started  in  dismay. 

"Child,  what  hast  thou?" 

"A  pig!  a  pig!" 

Jack  walked  up  and  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

"Miss — 

He  could  go  no  further,  for  the  little 
girl  exclaimed,  "Thou  must  not  say 
'Miss!'  " 

Jack  seemed  embarrassed. 

"That  is  so,  Jack.  Thou  forgetest; 
just  the  plain  Martha.  But  didst  thou 
bring  this  on  thy  shoulder  all  the  way?" 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  did  not  mind  that,"  he  replied,  as 
he  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"Arabella  walked  so  fast  it  made  me 
warm  to  keep  up  with  her." 

' '  Jack,  tell  what  thou  didst  bring  it  for. ' ' 

"A  thank-offering  for  dinner,  if  thou 
wilt  accept  it." 

"Thou  art  kind.  My  father  will  like 
it  very  much.  We  shall  be  happy  in 
the  eating  to  know  thou  didst  think  of  us. ' ' 

"I  must  hurry  back  now,  Arabella." 
And  Jack  lifted  his  hat  to  the  Quak 
eress. 

"Shall  I  run  jus'  to  the  bars  to  keep 
thee  company,  Oak?" 

"If  thou  wilt." 

A  smile  lighted  up  Martha's  serious 
countenance  as  she  heard  the  manner  of 
addressing  the  child.  The  two  went  out 
together.  As  they  walked  on,  the  little 
girl  faced  Jack. 

"Oak,  why  didst  thou  not  tell  Martha 
thy  father  had  gone  to  the  war?" 

A  moment's  silence,  then  a  straightfor 
ward  look  into  that  bonnet. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  did  not  think  it  best.  Martha  is 
kind  to  consent  to  your  coming  to  us. 
She  is  very  thoughtful  for  our  comfort. 
She  did  not  ask  me  any  questions. 
Would  it  be  polite  to  tell  her,  in  her 
own  house,  that  my  father  had  gone  out 
to  fight  for  the  rights  he  believed  we 
should  have  and  she  believes  we  should 
not  have?  I  ought  not  to  tell  her  unless 
she  asks." 

"Oak,  art  thou  a  Tory?" 

"No,  Birdie,  thou  seemest  to  have  a 
hard  time  arranging  the  Tories  and 
Whigs.  John,  thou  tellest  me  about, 
must  be  a  Tory,  if  he  does  not  admire 
Patrick  Henry." 

"Then,  Jack,  I  am  a  wig,  'cause  I 
could  not  be  what  John  is.  If  I  were,  I 
might  want  him  to  take  Martha.  P'raps 
I  would  be  moved  so  I  should  have  to 
tell  him.  No,  I  am  a  wig.  Jack,  art 
thou?" 

"You  just  be  sure  I  am  to  my  finger 
tips.  Martha  is  a  Tory,  is  n't  she?" 

"Now,  Oak,  jus'  you  see  here:  don't 
"3 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

ask  idle  questions,  'cause  I  do  n't  know 
them.  And  if  Martha  is  a  Tory,  I  do  n't 
want  to  know  that  either.  'Cause  I  s'pect 
if  I  asked  her  she  would  likely  ask  me. 
I  do  not  want  to  tell,  if  I  am  not  jus'  like 
her  exactly,  'cause  she  might  feel  bad, 
and  Friend  Hezekiah  might  be  moved  to 
tell  old  John.  No,  I  will  only  tell  thee 
'bout  it,  but  I  truly  am  a  wig.  Here 
are  the  bars,  so  I  will  leave  thee." 

"Good-night,  Birdie." 

She  waved  her  hand,  and  ran  back  in 
the  twilight. 


CHAPTER  VII 

The  next  morning  Arabella  finished  her 
little  duties,  and  then,  approaching  the 
Quakeress,  said :"  Dear  Martha,  if  thou 
art  willing,  I  should  like  to  go  to  Jack's 
again." 

"Child,  thou  wert  there  all  last  third 
day." 

"I  should  like,  if  it  please  thee,  to  go 
first  day,  second  day,  third  day,  fourth 
day,  fifth  day,  sixth  day,  and,  Martha, 
seventh  day." 

"Child,  wouldst  thou  leave  me?  Dost 
thou  wish  to  live  there?" 

Into  her  arms  went  the  little  girl. 

"Oh,  oh,  no!  Only  their  father  has 
gone,  and  their  mother  is  in  heaven,  and 
they  jus'  said,  'S'pose  I  could  be  their 
Martha  for  a  little  while  every  day." 
'Cause  it  is  so  long  till  dark  comes,  and 
"5 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

thou  knowest,  now,  Jack  will  be  out  so 
much  on  the  farm,  'cause  his  father  said 
he  must.  And  I  did  not  mend — 'cause, 
—  well,  'cause  I  did  not,  on  third  day." 

"Child,  dost  thou  know  when  the 
father  will  be  back?" 

"No,  I  did  not  ask.  Thou  dost  tell 
me  it  is  not  prof'ble  to  meddle." 

"Go,  and  be  happy.  But  see  thou  art 
home  early.  Here  are  some  fresh  tarts 
for  the  boys.  Thou  mightst  ask  them 
to  come  to  dinner  with  thee  when  the  pig 
is  cooked.' 

Away  went  Arabella.  Martha,  left  to 
herself,  continued  to  discuss  aloud  the 
Allen  family. 

"I  am  rather  persuaded  this  neigh 
bor  's  a  Whig,  but  I  am  not  going  to  ask 
the  question  that  will  prove  it.  The 
child  doth  have  but  slight  pleasure  at  the 
best,  and  to  take  the  companionship  of 
these  children  from  her  might  call  up  the 
temper  she  seems  not  able  to  control  at 
times.  Then  she  is  doing  good.  It  is  a 
lesson  that  cannot  be  learned  too  early. 
116 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

My  father  said  he  would  not  turn  a 
Whig  from  his  door  if  he  were  in  need. 
The  children  might  suffer,  were  the  child 
to  leave  them  without  any  help  from  her. 
No,  it  seemeth  best  to  send  the  dough 
nuts  and  ask  no  questions." 

So  the  little  Aliens,  through  two  long 
winters,  had  Arabella  every  day,  and  her 
mind  really  seemed  to  grasp  all  the  infor 
mation  she  received  from  Jack.  He 
loved  to  see  the  astonishment  in  the 
child's  face,  as  he  tried  to  explain  to  her 
the  meaning  of  the  difficulties  between 
England  and  America.  She  listened  to 
the  story  of  the  signing  of  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence,  and  all  other  war 
news  which  he  heard.  It  had  reached 
every  fireside  and  quickened  the  action 
of  heart  and  brain  in  old  and  young. 
Jack  had  waited  and  watched  in  vain  for 
tidings  from  his  father  for  several  months. 
At  last  suspense  became  unbearable  to 
the  anxious  boy,  and  he  determined  to 
go  up  to  Philadelphia  and  see  if  he  could 
learn  anything  about  him. 
117 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Arabella  was  downcast  and  disheart 
ened  when  the  time  arrived  for  Jack's  de 
parture.  She  went  early  to  the  farm  to 
see  him  off,  and  walked  to  the  corners 
with  him ;  after  which  she  returned  to  the 
boys,  but  remained  only  a  short  time. 
She  shared  Jack's  anxiety  about  his 
father,  and  she  wanted  to  be  alone.  On 
reaching  home,  she  went  about  her  duties 
silently,  and  kept  out  of  doors  as  much 
as  possible,  that  Martha  might  not  notice 
her  red  eyes,  for  she  did  cry  when  Jack 
took  that  gray  bonnet  by  the  sides,  and 
said  "Birdie,  take  good  care  of  yourself 
until  I  get  back." 

It  was  a  long  day  without  Jack,  but  it 
had  its  end ;  and  the  following  morning 
Arabella  looked  about  for  constant  occu 
pation  until  time  for  him  to  return.  She 
prepared  a  pan  of  meal,  and,  sitting  down 
on  the  steps,  she  called  the  chickens 
about  her  and  began  feeding  them.  Sud 
denly  her  attention  was  attracted  by  the 
sound  of  some  one  appproaching  the 
house.  She  turned  to  look  toward  the 
nS 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

road,  when,  to  her  dismay,  she  saw  Friend 
John.  She  sprang  to  her  feet,  letting 
fall  her  pan  of  meal;  she  heeded  not  the 
flight  of  the  frightened  chickens;  she  did 
not  wait  to  see  the  effect  of  her  excited 
retreat;  but,  opening  the  door  of  the 
kitchen,  and,  not  seeing  the  Quakeress, 
she  called,  "Martha,  dear;  dear  Mar 
tha!  Oh,  where  art  thou?  Don't  let 
him  coax  thee  away — wilt  thou?  wilt 
thou?" 

"What  art  thou  saying?"  And  Martha 
hastened  to  the  child.  "Art  thou  hurt? 
Thy  voice  has  pain  in  it." 

"John!  Oh!  John  is  here!  Wilt 
thou  hide?" 

"Oh,  no.  Thou  needest  not  fear. 
Friend  John  will  not  harm  thee.  He 
does  not  wish  to  cause  thee  unhappiness, 
child." 

"No,  but  thee.      He  will  take  thee." 

"No,  child,  thou  needest  not  fear  for 
me." 

"Oh,  Martha,  please  let  me  hide  while 
he  is  here." 

119 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Very  well,  if  thou  wilt  be  happier." 

As  Friend  John  came  in  Arabella  sat 
by  the  window  in  her  own  room  darn 
ing. 

"Friend  Hezekiah,  thou  seest  now  the 
true  danger  of  permitting  thy  pity  to  go 
out  to  a  rebel.  Bennington  has  just 
been  lost  to  us,  but  Burgoyne  will  not 
leave  one  of  their  men  this  side  of  the 
water.  I  will  give  all  I  own,  I  tell 
thee,  Hezekiah,  to  help  England.  Howe 
is  now  preparing  to  strike  Philadelphia; 
thou  mayest  see  him  here.  I  have  given 
thy  name  and  house  as  a  safe  place  for 
secret  meetings.  So  thou  wilt  under 
stand  it.  Thou  art  loyal,  Hezekiah?" 

"Thou  canst  riot  doubt,  John,  my  will 
ingness  to  serve  my  king,  but  I  will  not 
be  a  party  to  bloodshed.  If  my  house 
is  desired  for  rest  and  peaceful  conversa 
tion,  it  is  well.  What  the  king  demands, 
I  will  do  as  a  subject.  Art  thou  will 
ing  to  take  up  arms  or  bind  thyself?" 

"If  needs  be." 

"Ought  not  our  birthright  inheritance 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

to  be  first  considered?  Would  a  Friend 
be  judged  by  the  elders  as  being  moved 
aright  to  so  do?" 

"Hezekiah,  I  am  fully  convinced  of 
my  duty." 

"Art  thou  not  being  led  by  thy  sym 
pathy,  rather  than  by  thy  judgment? 
Thou  hadst  better  think  earnestly,  or  thou 
mayest  regret  it.  John,  let  us  remain 
in  peace.  I  am  to  be  relied  upon  for 
secrecy." 

And  here  the  subject  was  dropped. 

"Has  Martha  changed  her  views  of  the 
desirability  of  the  state  of  companionship, 
thinkest  thou?" 

"I  fear  thou  hast  little  to  hope,  John, 
from  her.  She  seemeth  so  to  believe 
that  her  duty  is  to  her  father." 

"Why  dost  thou  say  'father',  when  that 
child  standeth  in  the  way  of  her  progres 
sion?" 

"Well,  Martha  is  near  unto  twenty- 
seven  years.  She  is  now  fit  to  judge  for 
herself  without  guidance,  only  from  the 
spoken  words  of  the  Friends  at  meeting. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

I  feel  I  must  leave  so  important  a  matter 
with  her." 

"And  the  child;  dost  thou  approve  of 
her  action  in  regard  to  the  foundling?" 

"Friend  John,  my  word  hath  passed 
to  Martha  that  I  would  permit  her  to 
keep  Arabella  in  my  house.  Thou  canst 
see  that  it  must  remain  so.  The  child 
really  seems  a  quiet,  peaceful  one." 

"Dost  thou  think  so?  If  thou  wert  to 
tell  of  her  temper — 

"John,  knowest  thou  not  flesh  is  weak? 
especially  young  flesh?" 

The  Quakeress  came  in,  and  John 
seemed  anxious  to  see  her  alone;  but  as 
Hezekiah  showed  no  signs  of  going  out, 
John,  addressing  himself  to  her,  said: 
"The  day  is  very  warm.  Wilt  thou  go 
with  me  to  the  spring  for  water  to  drink  ?' ' 

She  rose,  and  he  followed  her  out. 
She  knew  what  she  must  hear,  and  forti 
fied  herself  for  it. 

"This  is  a  pleasant  place,  Martha;  but 
thou  hast  talents  given  thee  by  the  Lord 
that  are  going  to  waste  in  this  country 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

life.  Thou  shouldst  be  heard  at  the 
meeting  and  the  mid-week  gatherings 
of  the  Friends.  Thou  canst  not  help  our 
work  as  thou  art  now.  I  have  thought 
much  about  thy  good  and  welfare.  Mar 
tha,  thou  art  a  comely  woman.  I  feel 
that  the  Lord  hath  to  tell  thee,  through 
his  servant,  all  these  things,  and  that,  if 
thou  wilt  consent,  I  am  persuaded  I 
should  be  the  one  to  lead  thee  into 
broader  fields."  He  reached  out  and 
took  her  hand.  "I  am  really  moved  to 
believe  thou  shouldst  walk  by  my  side  as 
my  helpmeet.  Wilt  thou?  Now,  Martha, 
speak  of  thy  feelings." 

"Friend  John,  thou  hast  been  very 
generous  to  think  of  me  as  thy  helpmeet, 
and  be  willing  to  take  me  from  the  life 
thou  thinkest  is  too  narrow;  but  thou 
knowest  my  father  needs  me,  and  I  have 
not  been  led  to  feel  that  I  was  called  to 
broader  fields.  Thy  willingness  to  have 
me  with  thee  always  is  somewhat  to  my 
worldly  good;  and,  as  thou  sayest,  for 
my  spiritual  advancement,  also.  But, 
123 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Friend  John,  I  hope  thou  wilt  know  how 
painful  it  is  to  tell  thee,  I  have  not  been 
called  to  enter  that  serious  condition  of 
life  thou  hast  mentioned." 

"It  is  the  child  that  keeps  thee  from 
me.  Would  our  lives  be  joined  if  thou 
hadst  not  taken  her?" 

His  keen  glance  did  not  escape  his 
companion. 

"Friend  John,  I  must  first  be  moved. 
Thou  wouldst  not  want  me  without  the 
guidance  of  the  spirit?" 

"I  would  take  thee  any  way  if  thou 
wouldst  come." 

"I  can  not,  Friend  John,  feeling  as 
thou  seest  I  do." 

He  turned  to  his  horse,  which  was 
browsing  in  the  yard. 

"Tell  Friend  Hezekiah  I  will  see  him 
at  another  time." 

"Wilt  thou  not  stop  for  dinner,  Friend 
John?" 

"I  will  not  wait  now.  I  hope  thou 
wilt  feel  differently  when  I  come  again." 

As  she  turned  to  the  house,  a  little, 
124 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

white  face  was  raised  from  the  window 
sill,  where  every  word  had  been  heard. 
The  spring  was  at  the  side  of  the  house 
next  her  window.  As  the  Quakeress 
came  around  to  the  kitchen,  Arabella, 
bonnet  in  hand,  passed  out  of  the  door 
leading  from  the  living  room.  Hezekiah 
was  dozing  in  his  big  chair,  and  she  went 
noiselessly  by,  that  he  might  not  be  dis 
turbed.  Across  lots  to  the  boys  she  ran, 
and  Martha,  looking  in  her  room,  said, 
"The  child  may  not  have  come  in  here, 
but  may  have  gone  into  the  field  for 
flowers.  Better  so,  as  she  seemeth  to  be 
overcome  with  her  fear  of  Friend  John. 
I  regret  much  that  he  hath  so  spoken, 
that  the  child  knows  she  is  not  pleasing 
in  his  sight.  Who  can  that  be?"  as  again, 
the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs  coming  rapidly 
up  the  gravel  path,  caused  her  to  hasten 
to  the  door.  Daniel  threw  himself  from 
the  saddle,  almost  at  the  moment  she 
appeared  on  the  porch. 

"Daniel,    what   is  wrong    with  thee?" 
as  she  noted  his  excitement. 
125 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Put  on  thy  bonnet;  lose  not  a  mo 
ment.  Jane  is  very  ill.  I  fear  that  it 
is  the  will  of  the  Lord  that  she  shall  be 
called  away." 

During  this  conversation  they  were 
making  their  way  to  Hezekiah,  still 
asleep  in  his  chair. 

"Father,  Daniel  is  here." 

He  opened  his  eyes. 

"Daniel,  oh,  yes.  Thou  lookest 
heated."  Then,  as  he  stretched  himself 
and  rubbed  his  eyes:  "Thou  lookest 
troubled,  Daniel." 

A  hasty  explanation  followed.  Martha 
arranged  a  few  things  about  the  house, 
and  the  chore-boy  harnessed  the  horse  to 
a  wagon,  as  there  was  no  time  for  walk 
ing. 

"Where  is  the  child?"  asked  Hezekiah. 

"Dost  thou  consent  to  her  wandering 
where  she  will?"  asked  Daniel. 

For  some   unspoken   reason  his  sister 

did  not  tell  just  where  she  thought  she 

might    be,    but    said:  "I   will  not  wait  to 

see  her.     She  will  come  in  soon.    Father, 

126 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

just  thou  tell  the  child  where  I  have 
gone,  and  that  thou  and  she  will  look 
after  the  house,  if  thou  wilt." 

Then  to  the  chore-boy  other  orders 
were  given :  the  kitchen  fire  was  not  to  be 
forgotten,  and  the  last  detail  regarding 
the  care  of  the  family  was  mentioned,  as 
if  the  going  was  for  a  month. 

"Observe  that  the  child  is  not  given 
any  hard  task,"  was  Martha's  parting 
admonition,  as  she  picked  up  the  reins 
and  drove  away  after  her  brother,  who 
was  hastening  on  before. 

Meanwhile  Arabella  was  seated  on  the 
side  porch  of  Jack's  house,  apparently 
with  something  serious  on  her  mind. 

"Birdie,  what  are  you  thinking 
about?" 

"Oak,  I  am  brewing;  true  I  am." 

"Well,  suppose  you  brew  out  loud." 

Her  face  was  flushed,  and  she  pushed 
back  her  hair,  as  she  threw  the  gray  bon 
net  down  beside  her.  Jack  took  one  of 
the  golden  curls  in  his  fingers,  and  pre 
tended  to  pull  it. 

127 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Tell  me  what  has  happened.  It  must 
be  Friend  John." 

"That  is  jus'  it,"  and  she  threw  her 
head  back  in  a  defiant  manner;  "that 
is  the  very  one.  Oh,  thou  dost  not 
know  how  'fraid  I  am  of  him." 

"Now,  see  here,  Birdie,  Martha  will 
not  let  him  hurt  thee.  Is  he  there  now?" 

"Oh,  dost  thou  s'pose  I  would  leave 
Martha  'lone  with  him?" 

Jack  struggled  manfully  to  suppress  a 
smile,  for  well  he  knew  the  sensitive  lit 
tle  heart  was  in  too  serious  a  mood  to 
bear  even  the  shadow  of  levity. 

"What  had  he  to  say,  Arabella?" 

"Thou  must  be  very,  very  serious  if  I 
tell  thee,  and  the  Elm,  or  no  one  else 
must  know,  'cause  prob'ly  it  is  wrong  to 
talk  about  it,  but  you  see  I  have  jus' 
commenced  brewing,  and  I  can't  stop." 

"I  am  waiting  if  thou  wishest  to  tell." 

"Well,  I  do  wish  to  tell  thee;   and,  as 

Friend    Hezekiah     knows    and    I    know, 

s'posin'  thou  dost  know,  too.      It  is  only 

one    more.      Martha    will    not   care,   and 

128 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

mean  old  John;  thou  canst  do  what  thou 
pleasest  to  him.  I  wish  he  were  a  pair 
of  shoes,  and  I  would  put  him  on,  and 
jus'  run  up  and  down  on  the  gravel  road, 
where  Martha  says  I  must  not  walk, 
'cause  it  scuffs  my  shoes  out.  I  wish — 
yes  I  do — I  wish  he  was  my  ugliest  doll 
I  had  at  the  chateau,  and  I  would  throw 
him  on  a  stone  and  break  his  head,  and 
then  I  would  not  have  him  mended." 

Jack  looked  in  amazement.  Her  doll 
in  the  chateau !  He  knew  enough  to 
understand  well  that  this  did  not  refer 
to  her  life  at  the  farm,  and  curiosity 
prompted  the  question,  "Where  did  you 
live  before  you  came  here?" 

"Now,  Oak,  I  will  not  brew  that  way, 
'cause  at  the  chateau  we  did  not  brew,  or 
move,  only  my  papa  said,  'You  must  not 
talk  about  anything  but  your  dolls;'  so  I 
can  only  talk  about — well,  jus'  things 
here." 

"Canst  thou  talk  in  French?" 

"Yes,  I  can,  'cause  I  always  think  in 
French." 

129 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Does  Martha  speak  it?" 

''No,  but  the  chore-boy  does;  and  Mar 
tha  says  'Child,  speak  it  to  the  chore-boy 
when  thou  hast  something  to  communi 
cate  to  him,  for  thou  ought  to  remember 
thy  mother-tongue.'  ' 

"Strange,  I  never  heard  thee  speak  a 
word  of  it  before." 

"Thou  hast  not  heard  what  John  did. 
Well,  he  asked  Martha  to  be  his  help 
meet.  What  kind  of  meat  is  that?" 

Jack  threw  his  arms  around    her. 

"My  little  sister!"  he  exclaimed,  as  he 
kissed  her  forehead,  "it  is  the  sweetest 
kind  of  meat,  and  some  day,  when  you 
are  big,  you  will  taste  it. ' '  And  he  laughed 
aloud  as  he  let  her  go. 

"Oh,  thou  art  poking  fun  at  me." 

"You  are — oh  well,  odd;  and  thou 
knowest  I  have  no  sister,  so  I  am  not 
used  to  girls'  ways." 

"I  have  only  the  chore-boy;  and  Mar 
tha  says  'Be  very  kind,  but  not  familiar 
with  the  chore-boy,  child.'  I  will  tell 
thee  no  more.  I  must  go  home.  Didst 
130 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

thou  hear  from  thy  father  when  thou 
didst  go  to  the  city?  Martha  says,  if  the 
times  were  not  so  troublesome  she  would 
take  me  up  to  Philadelphia ;  that  the  gray- 
in  my  bonnet  and  dress  look  green  from 
the  many  wettings  through  the  winter. 
Thou  hast  not  told  me  of  thy  father." 

Jack's  voice  trembled,  as  he  said :  "He 
was  in  the  battle  of  Bennington,  and 
escaped  unharmed ;  but  I  do  not  like  to 
tell  the  many  sorrowful  things  that  hap 
pened  to  others.  I  will  walk  part  way 
with  thee,  when  I  tell  the  boys  to  start 
our  dinner.  I  wish  you  would  n't  go." 

"No,  I  best  go  home." 

They  walked  along  over  the  green 
grass.  The  birds  were  singing,  and  all 
thought  of  care  left  the  young  hearts,  as 
they  talked  of  the  long  summer  days  in 
which  they  had  roamed  the  fields  over 
for  flowers  and  berries.  As  they  reached 
the  bars,  Jack  let  them  down ;  then  said : 
"Now,  I  am  going  back.  Good-bye, 
Birdie." 

She   waved  the  bonnet,  the  strings  of 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

which  were  held  tightly  in  her  hand,  and 
ran  on  until  her  home  was  reached.  As 
Arabella  entered  the  kitchen  it  was  with 
surprise  at  not  seeing  the  Quakeress  at 
this  hour  preparing  the  mid-day  meal. 

"Martha!"  Then,  as  no  answer  came, 
she  screamed:  "M-a-r-t-h-a." 

As  she  opened  the  door  leading  to  the 
living-room,  Friend  Hezekiah  met  her. 

"Child,  Martha  has  gone." 

She  heard  no  more. 

"Oh,  Martha,  thou  didst  tell  him 
thou  wouldst  not  !  Oh,  Hezekiah,  why 
didst  thou  send  her  to  that  wicked 
John?  Oh,  I  shall  run — oh,  where  shall 
I  run?" 

The  Quaker,  by  this  time  completely 
overcome  by  the  child's  sobbing  as  she 
sank  into  a  chair,  could  only  say:  "Thou 
must  not  cry.  She  will  be  soon  with 
thee." 

She  heard  him  not. 

"Oh,  that  wicked  John!  Why  didst 
thou  send  her,  when  she  told  him  she 
was  not  moved?" 

132 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

At  last  the  truth  came  into  Hezekiah's 
mind. 

Laying  his  hand  tenderly  on  her  head, 
he  said:  "Child,  Daniel  came  for  her. 
Jane  lieth  very  low,  and  Martha  bid  thee 
do  the  work  for  thee  and  me  until  she 
can  come  back;  dost  thou  understand?" 

"Did  she  go  to  Daniel's  house,  Friend 
Hezekiah?" 

"I  have  told  thee  so,  child." 

"I  will  do  as  I  am  bid." 

A  simple  meal  was  placed  before  him, 
and,  the  work  being  finished,  the  child 
took  her  bonnet  and  started  off  through 
the  fields. 

The  Quakeress,  upon  her  arrival  at  her 
brother's,  found  that  Jane  was  seriously 
ill,  and  there  was  much  to  cause  her 
anxiety.  She  had  to  trust  to  her  own 
skill  as  doctor  and  nurse,  as  well  as  look 
ing  after  the  three  small  children.  Her 
mind  was  filled  with  the  surrounding  dif 
ficulties.  As  she  stood  by  the  fire  pre 
paring  some  milk  porridge  for  Jane  in  the 
middle  of  the  afternoon  of  the  day  she 
i33 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

went  to  Daniel's,  she  heard  the  latch- 
string  lifted,  but  thought  nothing  of  it, 
supposing  it  to  be  one  of  the  children. 

"Martha!" 

"Thou  here!"  exclaimed  the  Quak 
eress. 

Arabella  was  in  her  arms.  The  woman 
did  not  speak — only  held  the  passionate 
child  to  her  heart.  She  understood. 

"Now  I  have  seen  thee  here,  I  will  go 
back  to  Friend  Hezekiah's  and  I  will  be 
so  good  to  him  for  thee.  I  thought — I 
did  think  thou  hadst  changed  thy  mind 
'bout  John's  meat." 

"About  what,  child?" 

"John's  help-meet." 

"Oh,  thou  art  making  thyself  unneces 
sary  trouble.  I  told  thee  I  would  not  go 
to  John." 

"Papa  told  me  he  would  not  leave  me, 
but  he  did." 

"Child,  I  have  said  often,  thou  art 
too  old  for  thy  years." 

Daniel  came  in  and  saw  his  sister  still 
holding  Arabella  in  her  arms.  He 
134 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

frowned,  as  he  asked,  "What  bringeth 
thee  here?" 

The  Quakeress  replied  for  her.  "She 
will  drive  the  sorrel  home  that  my  father 
can  have  him  if  needs  be.  Wilt  thou 
bring  him  up,  Daniel?" 

When  alone:  "Do  thou  not  come 
again,  unless  my  father  sends  thee.  Three 
miles  is  not  much  for  thee  and  me  to 
walk,  when  there  is  time;  but  if  thou 
hadst  to  go  on  thy  own  feet  home  to 
night,  it  would  be  dark.  Now  make  no 
delays,  but  hasten  on  thy  way  and  mind, 
tell  my  father  thou  hast  been  here." 

"And  wilt  thou  have  me  tell  him  the 
reason  I  came  to  thee?" 

"Child,  answer  whatsoever  my  father 
asks  thee,  just  as  it  is." 

After  Arabella  started,  the  nurse  went 
back  to  her  patient.  The  old  Quaker 
asked  few  questions  of  the  child  upon  her 
return,  being  satisfied  with  the  evidence, 
which  his  own  eyes  saw. 

"Didst  thou  find  thy  Martha,  as  I  had 
told  thee?" 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Yes,  Friend  Hezekiah,  just  as  thou 
didst  tell  me." 

He  bowed  his  head. 

"Thou  dost  love  her,  child?" 

"Yes,  and  so  dost  thou." 

The  hours  passed  slowly  to  the  little 
girl,  though  she  found  much  to  keep  her 
busy.  The  boys  did  not  come  to  see  her, 
fearing  to  intrude ;  and  in  her  loneliness 
she  often  asked  :  "Friend  Hezekiah  dost 
thou  think  Martha  will  come  back  soon?" 

The  third  day  she  received  a  favorable 
reply  to  the  question,  when  he  had  just 
returned  from  Daniel's.  "I  think  by 
next  seventh  day." 

"Oh,  it  is  so  long  to  wait." 

"Thou  must  make  thyself  contented. 
Martha  is  troubling  about  thee,  for  fear 
thou  hast  too  much  for  thy  small  hands 
to  do,  but  I  have  comforted  her  by  say 
ing  thou  hast  done  well  for  me." 

"Friend  Hezekiah,  thou  wert  good  to 
say  that." 


136 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Jane  had  recovered;  and  the  quiet 
tenor  of  Hezekiah's  farm-house  had  been 
restored.  A  little  more  care  had  been 
placed  upon  Martha,  after  she  returned 
home,  for  each  first  or  second  day  she 
or  the  child  went  over  the  hills  to 
Daniel's  house  with  a  basket  filled  with 
such  provisions  as  would  lessen  the  labors 
of  her  sister-in-law. 

Daniel  quite  persistently  urged  that 
Arabella  should  remain  at  his  farm  for  a 
time,  to  assist  with  the  work.  But  to  this 
his  sister  would  not  listen.  A  depression 
that  greatly  troubled  her,  had  appeared 
in  the  manner  of  her  charge,  but,  as  no 
word  escaped  that  pointed  to  the  cause, 
there  was  nothing  tangible  in  her  fears. 
She  had  no  knowledge  of  the  thrilling 
events  of  the  war,  that  were  being  pic- 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

tured  to  the  child  in  the  heat  of  the  ex 
citement  at  the  Aliens'.  No  news  had 
been  received  for  some  time  of  the  absent 
father,  and  grief  marked  the  faces  of  the 
boys,  for  they  feared  he  had  fallen  on  the 
field  of  battle.  The  strain  was  great  on 
the  high-strung  companion  of  their  sor 
rows.  Then  the  report  of  the  patriots' 
march  through  the  city  of  Philadelphia, 
down  Front  and  up  Chestnut  streets 
with  the  fife  and  drum  playing  merrily, 
was  told  to  Arabella.  The  facts  reached 
the  farm-house  almost  at  the  same  time. 

John  came  out  in  great  haste  and 
seemed  too  excited  to  even  think  of 
Martha.  He  left  after  a  short  conversa 
tion  with  the  old  man,  not  having  dis 
mounted  from  his  horse. 

The  air  seemed  filled  with  forebodings 
of  greater  disaster.  Arabella  saw,  from 
the  Quakeress'  manner  that  news  of  an 
unpleasant  nature  had  been  communi 
cated  by  John,  and,  at  the  first  opportun 
ity,  she  went  to  report  it  to  Jack,  who 
greeted  her  so  seriously,  that  she  said, 
138 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Oak,  thee  seems  sad.  What  troubles 
thee?" 

"The  British — the  Tories — are  getting 
the  best  of  us.  I  wish  that  I  might  do 
something  for  my  country." 

"Hast  thou  heard  from  thy  father?" 

"No,  and  I  fear  he  has  met  death." 

"Oh,  Oak,  thou  must  take  heart.  He 
will  come  back  to  thee  all  right ;  only  be 
brave.  Martha  says  jus'  hope,  'cause 
that  is  the  most  comforting  way.  Old 
John  has  been  at  our  house  again.  Yes, 
he  has,  and  he  is  a  Tory." 

"That  is  right  at  last.  And  what  am  I, 
Birdie?" 

"Oh,  a  wig,  to  be  sure." 

"Bravo,  little  Quakeress!  You  are 
truly  growing  wise.  What  did  John 
say?"  continued  Jack. 

"He  jus'  called  Friend  Hezekiah  out. 
And  do  you  b'lieve,  he  would  not  wait 
to  talk  to  Martha,  'cause  he  jus'  whis 
pered  something  and  licked  his  horse 
until  it  kicked  up  so  I  thought  he  was 
going  over  his  head.  He  is  so  mean 
139 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

even  horses  do  n't  like  him.  No,  they 
do  n't,  'cause  his  was  so  angry  he  was 
all  white,  and  would  not  stand  still. 
Friend  Hezekiah  said,  'Friend  John,  thou 
hast  used  thy  horse  very  hard,  and  the 
day  is  warm.  Thou  hadst  best  change 
here,  if  thou  art  going  to  Gray's  Hill.' 
And  dost  thou  know  the  mean  old  John 
left  without  answering.  Friend  Heze 
kiah  looked  frightened  when  he  had 
gone.  I  b'lieve  he  is  'fraid  of  him,  too. 
Yes,  I  do,  'cause  he  was  so  still  after  he 
left.  Oh,  my!'  exclaimed  the  child,  "it 
is  growing  late.  There  is  the  horn!'; 
And  she  ran  away  as  fast  as  her  feet  would 
carry  her,  for  she  noticed  a  dark  cloud 
rapidly  gathering  and  the  wind  begin 
ning  to  blow. 

As  she  reached  the  farm-house  all  out 
of  breath,  Martha  exclaimed :  "Arabella, 
I  was  greatly  troubled  about  thee,  for  I 
fear  we  are  going  to  have  a  thunder  gust, 
and  thou  art  too  young  to  be  alone  on 
the  road  at  such  a  time.  Dost  thou 
know  whether  the  shutters  are  closed  in 
140 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

thy  room?  If  not  thou  hadst  better  see 
to  it." 

The  chore-boy  laid  a  fresh  log  in  the 
big  fire-place,  and  piled  the  kindling  high 
in  the  wood-box  by  the  chimney  in  the 
kitchen,  for  Martha  said,  "That  shed 
leaks  so  that  every  stick  will  be  unfit  to 
use  for  days." 

The  predictions  proved  true.  There 
was  little  opportunity  for  the  family  to 
sleep  that  night.  Hail-stones  rattled 
against  the  window-panes,  and  the  wind 
whistled  through  every  crack  and  crevice. 
About  four  o'clock  the  old  Quaker  arose, 
and  his  daughter,  hearing  him  move 
about,  knew  that  an  early  breakfast 
would  be  most  acceptable,  and  so  she  and 
Arabella  soon  had  the  cloth  laid.  The 
food  remained  almost  untouched  when 
they  arose  from  the  table.  All  seemed 
depressed  by  the  raging  storm  without. 
The  old  man  placed  a  chair  before  the 
fire-place,  and  sat  with  his  back  to  its 
red  glow.  He  drew  another  before 
him,  and,  crossing  his  arms  over  it,  laid 
141 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

his  head  on  them.  The  Quakeress  and 
her  charge  were  busying  themselves 
about  the  house,  when  the  sound  of 
horses'  hoofs  attracted  their  attention. 
With  more  spirit  than  Martha  had  ever 
shown  before  in  the  presence  of  the  child, 
she  exclaimed,  "It  must  be  the  Whigs!" 

Arabella  quickly  replied,  "It  may  be 
the  Tories." 

The  startling  remark  of  intelligence  as 
to  party  must,  at  any  other  time,  have 
surprised  the  woman,  but  she  now  hast 
ened  to  the  large  room,  followed  by  the 
little  girl.  Just  as  she  reached  a  win 
dow,  John  appeared  in  the  entrance  lead 
ing  to  the  side  porch.  Arabella  slipped 
into  her  own  room,  unseen.  Martha  re 
turned  to  the  kitchen,  as  Hezekiah  came 
forward  to  welcome  not  only  John,  but 
two  British  officers. 

The  order  was  immediately  given  to 
stable  their  horses,  and  John  said:  "We 
have  no  time  to  lose.  Friend  Hezekiah, 
thy  house  is  required  for  a  meeting. 
Generals  Howe  and  Cornwallis  will  wait 
142 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

here  for  information.  It  is  well  the  fog 
has  gathered  so  dense,  as  it  conceals  us 
from  curious  eyes." 

Hezekiah  then  said:  "You  are  wel 
come  to  all  we  can  do  for  you  and 
the  king.  The  best  room  is  at  your  ser 
vice;"  and  he  opened  a  door  that  stuck 
tight  at  first  from  the  dampness,  and,  as 
it  swung  back,  a  cold,  penetrating  air  fell 
upon  the  wet  and  chilled  officers.  They 
glanced  at  the  open  fire  and  the  cheery 
surroundings  of  the  living-room,  and 
General  Howe  remarked,  "Why  not  re 
main  here  where  it  is  warm?"  Then 
pointing  to  the  sleeping-rooms,  he 
asked,  "Who  is  in  there?" 

"Thou  canst  see.  That  is  mine;  those 
belong  to  the  women,  who  are  at  work  in 
the  kitchen." 

General  Howe  pushed  open  one  door 
which  was  ajar,  went  to  the  windows  and 
saw  that  they  were  closed.  General  Corn- 
wallis  had  examined  the  others,  and, 
satisfied  with  the  result,  they  sat  down, 
ordering  all  the  blinds  to  be  drawn. 
H3 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  will  see  that  you  have  refresh 
ments." 

"Not  now,  Hezekiah,"  General  Howe 
answered;  "after  our  conference.  Busi 
ness  first.  See  to  it  we  are  not  inter 
rupted." 

Hezekiah  and  John  took  refuge  in  the 
dining-room. 

"Martha,  thou  wilt  see  that  a  hearty 
meal  is  provided  for  our  friends."  Her 
father  spoke  from  the  door,  leading  to 
the  kitchen. 

"At  once?" 

This  called  to  his  mind  the  remark  of 
the  General,  and,  turning  to  John,  he 
asked,  "What  thinkest  thou  about  the 
time?" 

"I  should  say  an  hour  or  so." 

"Hearest  thou,  Martha?" 

"Yes,  father.  Thou  hast  not  in 
formed  me  how  many  will  sit  at  thy  table. 

"Four.  But  do  not  send  the  child  in 
here  for  a  while.  Friend  John  and  I 
have  somewhat  to  say." 

Left  alone,  the  two  generals  gave  an- 
144 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

other  careful  inspection  of  the  windows 
about  them.  The  door  of  Arabella's 
room  stood  open. 

"That  will  not  close  tight.  The  damp 
ness  has  caused  the  wood  to  swell  and 
the  latch-string  is  gone." 

"All  right,  Cornwallis,  I  have  been  in 
there,  and  peered  even  into  the  closet,  and 
was  guilty  of  a  woman's  trick — lifted  the 
valance  and  looked  under  the  bed,  too." 

General  Cornwallis  laughed. 

"Well,  then  we  are  safe.  However,  I 
suppose  that  should  be  taken  for  granted, 
as  John  says  this  man  is  to  be  trusted." 

Taking  off  their  coats,  they  hung  them 
over  the  chairs  to  dry.  Finally  they  sat 
down  before  the  open  fire,  and  held  their 
feet  to  the  heat.  Soon  the  heavy  boots 
began  to  steam,  and  they  moved  slightly 
back.  The  occasional  crackling  from  the 
wood  which  General  Cornwallis  took  from 
the  box  in  the  chimney  corner  and  threw 
on  the  coals,  sent  out  the  only  sound 
that  could  be  heard,  as  each  man  seemed 
intent  on  the  business  of  warming  his 
MS 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

hands.      General    Howe,    after    a    time, 
moved  to  one  side. 

"That  heat  burns  my  face,"  he  re 
marked;  and,  as  he  changed  his  position, 
he  faced  the  entrance  to  Arabella's  room. 
His  eyes  fell  upon  the  snowy  pillows. 

"I  should  like  to  sleep  in  that  bed, 
Cornwallis." 

The   General   turned  and  looked  at  it. 

"  Yes,  it  certainly  is  more  tempting 
than  the  road  on  a  night  like  last.  I 
hope  our  scout  reports  punctually." 

Hardly  were  the  words  spoken,  when 
a  soft  tap  was  heard.  The  two  generals 
stepped  into  Arabella's  room,  the  door 
being  open.  As  it  did  not  close  tight, 
they  watched  through  the  crack  to  see 
who  the  new-comer  might  be. 

Hezekiah  also  heard  the  rap,  and  went 
to  answer  it.  To  his  question,  "Who 
art  thou?"  the  pass-word  was  given. 
The  key  turned  in  the  lock,  and  a  scout 
was  admitted.  The  officers  went  back  to 
their  seats,  and  the  door  again  swung 
open  before  the  bed. 
146 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Your  news?"  demanded  General 
Howe  of  the  man  in  British  uniform. 

"Washington  has  taken  post  behind 
Red  Clay  Creek,  and  he  seems  desirous 
of  an  attack." 

"The  Whig!  We  will  give  him  one," 
muttered  Howe,  as  he  rose  and  seated 
himself  before  the  table,  upon  which  he 
saw  writing  materials.  He  wrote  a  short 
time;  then,  going  to  the  entrance  of  the 
dining-room,  said:  "Give  this  man  some 
thing  to  eat,  at  once,  that  he  may  leave." 

Hezekiah  reported  to  Martha. 

"Make  no  delays.  He  must  lose  no 
time,"  added  Howe. 

The  hostess  brought  in  a  well-filled 
plate.  The  soldier  seated  himself  and 
began  to  do  justice  to  the  edibles. 

Walking  back  to  the  table  where  lay 
the  message  just  penned,  Howe  took  it 
up,  re-read  it,  sat  down,  and  seemed  to 
copy  it  on  a  scrap  of  paper;  then  sealing 
the  larger  missive,  he  left  both  on  the 
table. 

"General,"  said  Howe,  "we  must  hem 
H7 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

this  Washington  in  where  he  is — it  is  just 
the  place  to  accomplish  our  design — to 
cut  him  off  on  the  road  to  Lancaster  and 
Philadelphia.  It  will  be  impossible  for 
them  to  get  supplies.  Better  for  us  that 
they  die  of  starvation  than  in  open  con 
flict." 

Here  the  scout  entered,  and  Howe 
said:  "Take  that  sealed  letter.  Never 
stop  until  it  is  delivered  into  the  hands 
of  the  one  to  whom  it  is  addressed." 

The  man  took  up  the  packet,  put  it  in 
an  inside  pocket,  buttoned  his  coat,  gave 
the  military  salute,  and  went  out  by  the 
way  he  came  in. 

After  some  further  talk  in  regard  to 
Washington,  Cornwallis  said :  "I  believe 
I  am  chilled  yet.  Suppose  we  go  out 
and  ask  for  some  flip.  They  must  have 
something  of  the  sort.  And  we  may  as 
well  order  our  breakfast." 

The    two    men    joined    Hezekiah    and 
John,  and  made  known  their  wants.     As 
Howe  seated  himself,  he  partially  closed 
the  entrance  to  the  living-room. 
148 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

On  the  head-post  of  Arabella's  bed — 
the  one  so  admired  by  the  General — hung 
a  long,  gray  cloak,  belonging  to  Martha. 
From  out  its  shelter  now  came  Arabella. 
When  she  fled  in  dismay  from  John,  and 
saw  the  strangers  follow  him  in,  her  one 
idea  was  escape.  That  accomplished, 
she  found  herself  a  prisoner  in  her  own 
room.  What  should  she  do?  Nothing 
would  induce  her  to  face  either  John  or 
his  companions,  for  she  remembered 
Jack's  father  told  him  to  beware  of  the 
red-coats ;  and  here  they  were  in  her  own 
home.  While  greetings  were  exchanged 
between  the  men,  she  looked  about  for  a 
place  of  concealment.  A  glance  at  the 
bed,  and  the  little  form  was  hidden  by  the 
pillows  and  cloak.  From  its  folds  she 
watched  the  British  officers,  with  every 
sense  strained  to  its  utmost  power.  She 
must  not  miss  a  word.  She  wanted  to  tell 
the  Oak.  As  the  generals  left  the  living- 
room,  without  an  instant's  hesitation 
Arabella  slipped  cautiously  to  the  floor. 
Her  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  mirror, 
149 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

which    hung   so   as   to   reflect   the  group 
gathered  round  the  table. 

Cautiously,  and  with  trembling  hands, 
she  removed  her  heavy  shoes.  The 
string  of  one  fastened  itself  into  a  hard 
knot  when  she  attempted  to  untie  it. 
With  a  supreme  effort  she  broke  it,  for 
it  was  new  and  quite  strong.  When  it 
snapped,  great  beads  of  perspiration  stood 
on  her  face,  and  she  appeared  to  cease 
breathing  for  the  moment.  She  watched 
to  see  if  the  little  party  had  heard  it.  To 
her  the  sound  came  so  loud,  she  would 
not  have  been  surprised  if  it  had  reached 
Jack's  ears.  Through  her  mind  passed 
the  admonition  Mr.  Allen  gave  his 
son:  "If  you  hear  any  news  of  the 
doings  of  the  British  that  will  aid  your 
country,  see  that  our  army  gets  it,  if  you 
walk  into  death  to  deliver  it."  These 
words  Arabella  had  repeated  to  Jack, 
asking  him  their  meaning.  The  idea 
that  Jack  and  death  were  associated 
caused  her  heart  to  beat  wildly,  even  at 
this  trying  moment,  and  she  deter- 
150 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

mined,  at  any  risk,  to  follow  Mr.  Allen's 
orders. 

She  trembled  so  when  she  rose  from 
the  floor,  where  she  sat  while  removing 
her  shoes,  that  the  little  limbs  almost  re 
fused  to  hold  her.  Still  she  thought, 
"Yes,  I  am  a  wig,  and  I  must  do  it, 
'cause  I  must — or  I  shan't  be  a  wig  like 
the  Oak.  I  will  do  it  quick,  while  thou 
art  out  of  the  dining-room,  Martha, 
'cause  thou  mightst  look  sad,  and  I 
should  tell  thee.  But  thou  art  a  Tory, 
anyway,  and  the  Oak  is  a  wig,  and  so  am 
I,  and  John  is  a  Tory.  Yes,  I  will  get 
the  paper,  'cause  I  can." 

The  chairs  on  which  hung  the  coats, 
had  been  pushed  so  that  they  afforded 
some  concealment  in  case  of  a  sudden 
move.  They  were  drinking,  and  all  four 
men  seemed  in  earnest  conversation. 
The  noise  of  the  glasses  being  moved 
about,  also  aided  in  covering  any  slight 
rustle  of  clothing  the  child  might  make. 
She  stepped  softly  and  lightly,  as  she 
went  into  the  large  room,  and  snatched 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

the  slip  of  paper  she  had  seen  the  General 
lay  on  one  side,  scattering  others  on  the 
floor  and  in  the  fire  as  she  passed. 
Softly  she  raised  the  latch,  and  flew  out 
into  the  storm.  A  strong  wind  slammed 
the  door  leading  into  the  dining-room. 

The  men  rose  and  stared  an  instant  at 
each  other.  Hezekiah  rushed  into  the 
adjoining  room. 

"It  is  only  the  gale,"  he  said.  "You 
did  not  lock  up  after  the  scout  left, 
did  you?"  Then  the  Generals  remem 
bered  they  did  not. 

"Hezekiah,  much  of  thy  paper  that 
was  on  the  table  is  blown  about,"  re 
marked  John.  "Some  seems  to  have 
reached  the  open  fire." 

Howe  searched  in  vain  for  the  copy 
he  had  intended  to  keep,  but  at  last  was 
forced  to  believe,  with  the  others,  that 
the  wind  had  carried  it  to  the  fire. 

During  the  excitement  of  the  officers 

Arabella  reached  the  wood-house.      Once 

there    she    slipped    on    her   shoes,    never 

heeding  her  wet   feet.      Finding  the  way 

152 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

clear  to  go  to  the  pantry,  which  was  be 
tween  the  shed  and  the  kitchen,  she  felt 
safe,  and  stood  still  to  calm  her  throb 
bing  heart 

The  Quakeress  was  just  returning  from 
the  sitting-room,  drawn  like  the  rest  to 
the  scene  of  the  commotion. 

Silently  sat  Arabella  on  the  flour-bin, 
as  if  she  had  been  there  always.  Martha 
was  hurrrying  to  and  fro. 

"The  child  must  now  lay  the  cloth. 
Why,  where  is  the  wee  one?"  she  said 
aloud. 

"Here  I  am,"  came  in  trembling  tones 
from  the  big  pantry. 

"Where?"  demanded  the  Quakeress. 

"Only  right  here,"  as  she  stepped  into 
view. 

"Child,  hast  thou  been  so  near  me  all 
the  time?" 

"And  a  little  while  in  the  woodshed. 
I  am  oh!  so  'fraid  of  John!" 

"Foolish  little  child,  thou  must  help 
me  now.  John  is  too  much  troubled 
about  Whigs  to  care  for  thee  or  me. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Here,  take  the  cloth  and  lay  the  table  for 
three." 

Arabella  hastily  obeyed.  John  was 
standing  before  the  fire  in  the  next  room 
with  Hezekiah.  The  Generals  were  still 
sitting,  talking  over  their  flip. 

"Well,  well,"  said  Cornwallis,  as  she 
proceeded  with  her  duties,  "here  is  a 
youthful  face — in  this  forsaken  place.  I 
suppose  you  are  a  good  Tory,  little  girl." 

"Wilt  thou  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me 
what  thou  meanest  by  that?" 

"Oh,  it  would  take  too  long.  Do  you 
obey  Hezekiah,  and  you  will  be  a  Tory." 

"Thou  must  know  I  do,"  she  replied, 
looking  down  at  the  floor.  "And  Mar 
tha,  too,  even  when  she  bids  me  go  to 
Daniel's  house.  I  don't  like  to,  'cause 
it  is  so  far,  and  I  am  afraid  of  snakes. 
But  I  do." 

"Where  is  Daniel's?"  queried  the  man. 

"At  Chadd's  Ford." 

"So  ho!"  said  the  General.  "This 
may  be  interesting  information.  Who  is 
Daniel?" 

154 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Friend  Hezekiah  is  his  father." 

"Cornwallis,  we  must  learn  where  he 
lives.  This  may  be  of  service  to  us  in 
the  future." 

The  men  lost  no  time  in  leaving  after 
the  meal  was  partaken  of,  and  John,  who 
acted  as  guide,  went  with  them.  As 
they  left,  Cornwallis  remarked:  "Pos 
sibly  you  will  see  me  this  way  again." 

The  host  drew  a  sigh  of  relief,  as  his 
uninvited  guests  departed,  and  again 
seated  himself  in  his  accustomed  corner 
by  the  fire ;  but  he  moved  his  hands  nerv 
ously  and  started  at  every  sound. 

Martha  and  Arabella  were  busy  in  the 
kitchen.  The  child  ran  back  and  forth 
to  the  shed  and  yard,  hurrying  out 
and  in.  At  last  the  tasks  were  finished, 
and  Arabella  took  a  little  basket  from  the 
kitchen  and  left  the  house.  The  Quak 
eress,  as  we  have  seen,  allowed  her  to  go 
about  the  place  unquestioned.  She  vis 
ited  the  barn,  filled  her  basket  with  eggs, 
and  left  it  outside  while  she  went  for 
her  bonnet  and  cape.  Then  taking  the 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

basket   she  started  off  in  the  rain  unno 
ticed. 

"I  should  like  to  tell  Oak,  'cause  I  am 
going  that  way,  so  no  one  will  see  which 
way  I  really,  truly,  go.  I  s'pect  I  best 
not  tell  and  lose  time  talking,  'cause 
Washington  is  a  wig  and  so  am  I,  'cause 
John  is  a  Tory.  I  jus'  s'pect  John  is 
trying  to  get  Washington  into  trouble, 
jus'  like  getting  me  into  trouble,  trying 
to  take  Martha  away."  Thus  solilo 
quized  Arabella  as  onward  she  trudged. 

It  was  early  morning,  though  the  day 
seemed  far  spent  to  the  little  girl,  who 
had  risen  so  early  and  passed  through 
such  startling  experiences.  The  rain  had 
ceased,  but  it  was  cold  and  bleak,  and 
the  child's  feet,  at  every  step,  sunk  deep 
into  the  soft  turf.  She  dared  not  run  for 
fear  the  eggs  would  break,  and  it  seemed 
a  longer  distance  to  the  Ford  than  ever 
before.  Seeing  a  wood-chopper  at  work, 
she  stopped  and  asked,  ''Wilt  thou  tell 
me  the  way  to  Wilmington?" 

The  man  seemed  astonished. 
156 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Why,  it  is  across  the  Brandywine." 

"Wilt  thou  tell  me  how  I  can  get 
there?" 

"You  can  not  go  alone.  The  stream 
must  be  forded.  After  this  rain  it  would 
go  over  your  head." 

"Is  Christiana  far?"  she  asked. 

"That  is  on  the  other  side,  too.  Quak 
ers  are  mostly  Tories,"  he  muttered. 

Child,  as  she  was,  her  intuition  told  her 
she  had  asked  too  many  questions,  but 
she  must  know  the  way.  She  had  heard 
the  two  Generals  talking  of  the  proximity 
of  Red  Clay  Creek  to  Christiana,  and  she 
thought,  if  she  could  reach  that  place, 
the  rest  would  be  easy. 

"I  s'pose  I  best  not  go  there,  but  I 
want  to  take  something  to  a  Friend." 

"Well,  if  you  could  get  over  at  all, 
Pyle's  Ford  would  be  a  good  place." 

"Oh,  I  know  where  that  is,"  she  ex 
claimed  joyfully.  "I  pass  that  when  I 
go  to  Chadd's  Ford." 

"Yes,  that  is  the  place." 

Arabella  now  hastened  on.      She  met 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

several  farmers,  but  they  paid  slight  at 
tention  to  her.  To  some  of  them  she 
was  known  as  belonging  to  Daniel's 
father's  family.  When  within  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  Pyle's  Ford,  she  saw 
a  man  moving  slowly  among  the  trees, 
just  on  the  bank  of  the  Brandywine. 
The  spot  was  lonely  and  surrounded  by 
deep  forests,  the  wind  whistled  through 
the  branches,  and  the  leaves  of  early  au 
tumn  were  falling  about  her.  The  lone 
liness  of  the  situation  seemed  to  inspire 
her  to  heroic  action.  A  second  glance  at 
the  man  approaching  her  revealed  the 
fact  it  was  the  scout  who  had  that  morn 
ing  breakfasted  at  the  farm-house.  The 
man  was  at  her  side,  and,  as  he  spoke  to 
her,  she  looked  up  in  his  face. 

"Sis,  where  are  you  going?" 

"I  am  not  'Sis,'  so  there." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Hezekiah'sand  Martha's  child,  where 
thou  hadst  breakfast  this  morning." 

"Oh,  you  are!     Where  do  they  live?" 

"Thou  knowest,  and  Martha  says 
158 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

'Thou  must  not  ask  idle  questions.'  I 
saw  General  Cornwallis  and  Howe.  Yes, 
I  did,"  seeing  his  disbelief  of  her  words 
in  his  manner.  "Thou  thinkest  I  did 
not,  but  I  did;  and  I  told  them  I  went  to 
Daniel's  house,  and  Daniel  is  Hezekiah's 
son." 

"Oh,  he  is!"  said  the  soldier. 

"And  Cornwallis  said  I  was  a  little 
Tory.  Yes,  he  did ;  and  talked  oh !  so 
nice  to  me  in  the  dining-room,  when  I 
went  in  to  lay  the  cloth,  and  he  was 
drinking  flip.  Yes,  he  was."  Then  sud 
denly  she  exclaimed,  almost  in  the  same 
breath,  "Didst  thou  like  the  breakfast 
Martha  gave  thee,  with  apple-butter?" 

"Well,  this  nasty  morning  almost  any 
thing  will  brace  a  man  up,  Sis." 

"Now,  thou  must  not  call  me  'Sis.' 
Oh,  say,  s'posin'  thou  carriest  me  'cross 
Pyle's  Ford;  then  I  will  not  have  to  go 
way  to  Daniel's." 

The  man  eyed  her  curiously. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  he  asked 
sharply. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Jus*  to  see  a  Friend  and  carry  these," 
she  said,  pointing  to  her  basket  of  eggs. 

"This  seems  a  rough  morning  to  send 
a  child  out,"  he  remarked. 

"Oh,  thou  dost  not  understand! 
Friends  jus'  go  if  they  must,  'cause  Mar 
tha  says,  'It  is  duty,  not  weather,  takes 
thee.'  Wilt  thou  carry  me  'cross?  I 
will  give  thee  breakfast  to-morrow,  if 
thou  wilt  come  for  it." 

"Whom  are  you  going  to  see?" 

"Only  a  Friend.  Many  Friends  live 
over  there.  Yes,  they  do.  I  can  show 
thee.  Hast  thou  been  there?" 

The  man  did  not  reply  to  her  ques 
tion. 

"Wilt  thou  take  me  over?" 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  Pyle's 
Ford.  Child  and  soldier  stood  looking 
on  the  river. 

"How  shall  I  carry  you?"  he  said,  ir 
resolutely.  "I  suppose  in  my  arms,"  an 
swering  his  own  question. 

"No,  stoop  down,  and  I  will  show 
thee." 

160 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"How  do  I  know  but  that  you  are  a 
spy,  going  to  the" —  Then  he  stopped. 
The  pure,  innocent  face  forbade  the 
speech. 

"Going  to  what?"  asked  Arabella, 
when  he  hesitated. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  say  it,"  asked 
the  scout. 

"Martha  says  that  if  it  is  not  pleasing 
to  the  Lord,  we  must  not  speak." 

"See  here,  Sis,  just  let  Martha  rest, 
and  come  along  with  me,  and  have 
Mother  Meg  search  you." 

"What  is  that  about  Mother  Meg? 
Martha  is  not  tired." 

The  scout  laughed  aloud. 

"Sis,  you  are  the  oldest  for  your  size, 
I  ever  saw.  I  am  afraid  to  carry  you 
over  until  I  know  Washington  will  be 
none  the  wiser  for  it.  Come  to  Meg's 
house  and  we  will  see." 

"Why,  she  lives  way  far  over  there. 
And,  too,  I  am  'fraid  of  her.  Martha 
says  prob'ly  she  is  very  kind,  but  I  am 
'fraid  any  way." 

161 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Here  's  Meg  now,  coming  down  the 
road." 

Arabella's  very  temples  bounded  as 
the  woman  drew  near. 

"Meg,"  said  the  soldier,  "this  girl 
wants  me  to  ford  the  river  with  her,  but 
how  do  I  know  she  is  not  carrying  a  let 
ter  to  that  Yankee  camp.  Just  take  her 
behind  that  shed  and  search  her  well." 

Arabella,  panic-  stricken,  followed  the 
woman,  for  she  feared  to  refuse  obedience 
to  the  scout's  order.  The  old  woman's 
house  was  a  rendezvous  for  the  British, 
as  she  was  a  Tory  of  the  staunchest  kind. 
Arabella  had  great  reason  to  tremble  be 
fore  her.  The  woman  was  large,  and 
brusque  in  manner,  and  would  spare  no 
one,  if  she  knew  he  was  a  Whig. 

"What  have  you  in  that  basket,  be 
fore  we  go  any  farther?"  she  asked. 

"Eggs,"  replied  Arabella. 

"Who  for?" 

"Oh,   Friends." 

"Are  you  a  Quaker?" 

"Martha  is." 

162 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  asked  if  you  were,"  persisted  Meg. 

"I  am  not  'born,'  Martha  says," 

"She  does,  hey?  Well  you  seem  to 
be  very  much  '  born  '." 

Here  the  scout  interrupted,  "Why 
do  n't  you  make  the  search  and  let  her 
go,  instead  of  waiting  here  in  the  mud  all 
day?" 

'Tend  to  your  own  business,"  said 
Meg.  "Put  down  that  basket.  I  will 
'tend  to  that  later." 

Arabella  wondered  what  was  to  hap 
pen  next,  as  she  followed  the  woman. 
Her  shoes  and  stockings  were  removed, 
and  every  garment  examined,  as  she 
stood  under  an  old  shed.  This  search, 
however,  did  not  alarm  her,  but  what 
would  happen  to  her  treasure?  While 
she  was  dressing,  Meg  lifted  the  eggs 
from  the  ground. 

"Please  be  careful  not  to  break  them, 
'cause  that  's  Martha's  best  basket,  and 
she  never,  never  will  let  me  take  it  again 
if  I  spoil  it." 

Without  appearing  to  hear  the  child's 
163 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

remark,  Meg  glanced  over  the  eggs,  mov 
ing  them  about.  As  she  broke  one,  cover 
ing  her  fingers  with  the  golden  contents, 
she  stooped  down  and  wiped  her  hands 
on  the  wet  grass.  Returning  to  the 
scout  she  exchanged  a  few  words  with 
him,  and  the  old  woman  went  on,  as 
Arabella  again  appeared  before  the  sol 
dier. 

"For  an  innocent  you  have  had  a  hard 
time.  Get  on  my  back,  and  I  will  soon 
have  you  over." 

"I  think  Martha  would  say  you  were 
not  led,  'cause  you  are  not  good  to  me  — 
so  there!" 

"I  am  not  good!  Well,  I  think  I  am 
to  take  you  across  the  stream.  Look  out 
for  your  eggs.  Don't  break  them  on  my 
back.  Here  we  go!" 

She  rested  her  basket  on  his  shoulders 
and  held  it  there  with  one  hand — the 
other  she  threw  about  his  neck.  He  rose 
with  her  and  stepped  down  into  the 
water.  Once  on  the  other  side,  he 
dropped  her  from  off  his  back  and,  be- 
164 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

fore  she  had  time  to  thank  him,  started 
to  return. 

Without  any  thought  as  to  direction 
she  followed  the  path  before  her,  and  ran 
as  fast  as  her  feet  would  carry  her,  for 
getful  even  of  the  eggs  which  were  danc 
ing  about.  She  met  a  boy  about  her 
own  age,  to  whom  she  ventured  to  speak. 

"Wilt  thou  tell  me  the  way  to  Red 
Clay  Creek?" 

"Oh,  my!  it  's  far  that  way." 

She  asked  no  more. 

"Say,  can  you  walk  it,  Sis?" 

She  pretended  not  to  hear,  but  kept 
on  for  a  long  distance,  not  daring  to  in 
quire  again.  She  began  to  grow  ex 
tremely  weary  and  her  feet  were  sore, 
but  she  would  not  give  up.  At  last  she 
saw  a  man  whom,  from  Jack's  descrip 
tion,  she  took  to  be  an  American  soldier. 

"Wilt  thou  tell  met  he  way  to  Chris 
tiana?" 

He  replied  to  her  question  surlily. 

"Then  I  am  now  at  Red  Clay  Creek 
am  I?" 

165 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"You  better  go  on,  Sis.  I  have  no 
time  to  talk  to  you." 

"Is  this  where  Friend  George  Wash 
ington  is  now?" 

The  sentinel  did  not  condescend  to 
glance  at  her. 

"Thou  art  not  a  Friend,  'cause 
Martha  says  'Friends  must  always  be 
kind' — when  they  are  'born.'  Please 
may  I  go  in  and  see  if  Washington 
lives  here?" 

The  man  turned,  annoyed  at  her  per 
sistence. 

"No,  Sis,  you  cannot." 

Catching  Jack's  phraseology,  she  ex 
claimed,  "Mr.  Man,  every  one  like  thee 
calls  me  Sis.  I  do  not  like  soldiers,  any 
way."  Then  abruptly,  "S'posin*  I  jus' 
run  in  anyway?" 

"S'posin'  you  don't,"  was  his  retort. 

"See  here,  man,  if  thou  wilt  not  let 
me  pass,  I  will  scream  'Washington,  let 
me  in.' 

As  she  spoke,  she  saw  a  fine-looking 
officer  pass  between  the  trees,  at  some 
1 66 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

distance   from   the  spot  where  the   two 
were  talking. 

"Is  that  Washington?" 

The  guard  turned  to  see.  Quicker 
than  thought  she  evaded  him,  as  his  eyes, 
for  an  instant,  followed  the  direction  in 
which  she  pointed.  Arabella  seemed 
scarcely  to  touch  the  ground,  as  her  little 
feet  carried  her  on.  Reaching  the  soldier, 
she  almost  gasped,  "Art  thou  Washing 
ton?  Quick  I  must  hurry  back." 

The  remark  was  addressed  to  no  less  a 
personage  than  LaFayette. 

"Child,  what  do  you  here?"  Seeing 
the  sentinel  watching  and  slowly  advanc 
ing,  he  signaled  him  back. 

Recognizing  his  French  accent,  she 
replied  in  that  tongue,  "Don't  let  that 
man  come.  He  said  I  could  not  see 
Washington,  and  I  ran  in.  Are  you 
Friend  George?" 

LaFayette  failed  to  reply,  but  gazed  in 
wonder.    A  Quakeress  garb  and  a  French 
child!     What  does  it  mean?     A  second 
look.      No,  she  is  light. 
167 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Art  thou  Friend  George?" 

"Follow  me,  little  girl.  I  will  take 
you  to  General  Washington." 

Arabella  needed  no  second  bidding. 
After  a  short  walk,  taken  in  silence,  he 
stopped  before  a  marquee. 

"Wait  here,  little  girl." 

Arabella,  now  almost  breathless,  kept 
her  eyes  on  the  tent,  fearing  no  one 
would  come.  Several  minutes  elapsed, 
and  she  called  as  loud  as  her  trembling 
voice  would  permit,  "George  Washing 
ton,  thou  must  come  out."  A  shout  of 
laughter  went  up,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
the  excited  child  saw  the  soldiers  standing 
around. 

LaFayette  replied  to  her  call  by  say 
ing,  "Come  in,  little  girl,"  and  she 
obeyed  the  command.  Before  her  was 
the  tall  form  of  Washington.  Looking 
earnestly  into  his  face,  she  said,  "Art 
thou  Friend  George  Washington?" 

A  smile  was  on  his  lips,  as  he  placed 
his  hand  on  the  curly  head.  She  had 
untied  her  bonnet  strings  because  she  was 
168 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

warm  from  running,  and  as  she  threw 
her  head  back  to  look  up  into  the  face 
of  the  tall  man  before  her,  the  bonnet 
fell  off,  but  she  did  not  notice  its 
loss.  LaFayette  stood,  an  onlooker, 
fully  appreciating  the  picture  before 
him. 

"Yes,  child,  I  am  George  Washington. 
And  who  are  you?" 

Not  noticing  his  question  in  her  desire 
to  tell  her  story,  she  continued,  "Art 
thou  a  wig?"  This  was  too  much  for 
the  two  men,  and,  exchanging  a  quick 
glance,  they  would  have  laughed  outright, 
but  Arabella  had  caught  the  look.  Her 
expression  changed ;  that  sensitive  lip 
quivered. 

The  General  repented  and  said:  "Here, 
little  girl,  sit  down.  Take  your  time. 
You  seem  tired."  He  placed  her  on  a 
seat.  It  was  necessary  for  her  now  to 
make  a  still  greater  effort  to  look  up  into 
the  face  of  General  Washington ;  and 
with  her  basket  of  eggs  still  in  her  hand, 
she  rose  from  the  scat,  and  in  an  instant 
169 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

was  standing  on  it.  General  Washing 
ton  looked  astonished. 

"What  is  that  for?" 

"I  want  to  see  thee,  'cause  Oak  says 
thou  art  a  great  man.  Art  thou?" 

"Well,  child,  I  must  be  in  stature — in 
your  eyes  at  least." 

"Art  thou  a  Friend?"  she  asked  sol 
emnly. 

"What  made  you  think  so?"  the  Gen 
eral  asked. 

"  'Cause  thou  saidest,  'child'.  Friend 
Hezekiah  does,  but  the  man  I  asked  to 
bring  me  to  you  called  me  'Sis',  and  the 
other  man  in  the  woods,  who  was  at  the 
farm-house,  called  me  'Sis'.  Art  thou  a 
wig?"  she  exclaimed  suddenly,  being  re 
called  to  her  business  with  the  thought 
of  the  scout. 

"Yes,  child,  I  am  a  Whig." 

"Howe  called  thee  a  wig   last   night." 

Again  the  two  men  exchanged  glances, 
this  time  full  of  inquiring  earnestness. 

"Are    you    a    Tory?"    asked     General 


170 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Washington,    to   see   if  she  could  distin 
guish  the  difference. 

"Oh,  no,  'cause  John  is.  I  am  a  wig. 
John  and  Friend  Hezekiah  and,  I  s'pects, 
Martha,  is  Tories,  but  I  am  a  wig." 

"Why  did  you  say  you  were  a  Whig?" 

"  'Cause  I  will  not  be  jus'  the  same  as 
mean  old  John.  He  is  a  Friend,  jus'  like 
Friend  Hezekiah,  and  he  wants  to  have 
Martha  let  me  go,  'cause  then  he  s'poses 
he  can  get  her  to  be  moved  to  go  and 
keep  his  house,  'cause  he  told  her  she  was 
comely.  The  Oak  told  me  that  meant 
pretty.  Martha  is,  oh,  so  good;  and  I 
know  that's  why  John  wants  her,  'cause 
I  heard  him  tell  her  under  my  window, 
'  Martha,  thou  shouldst  walk  with  me,  I 
am  moved  to  believe.'  But  I  am  'brew 
ing.'  ' 

"You  are  what?"  exclaimed  the  Gen 
eral. 

"Martha  says    when    people    talk  too 

much   about   things,  they   brew   trouble. 

I   came   'cause  John   wants  thee  and  me 

out  of  the  way.     Yes,  'cause  with  thee, 

171 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

he  says,  out  of  the  way,  the  Tories  would 
soon  have  America;  and  me  out  of  the 
way,  he  thinks  he  would  have  Martha. 
Perhaps  he  would.  I  don't  know  so 
very  sure  'bout  it.  So  this  morning  he 
brought  General  Howe,  the  man  called 
him,  and  General  Cornwallis.  I  think  it 
was  like  that,  but  Friend  Hezekiah  and 
John  just  said  Friend  Howe  and  Friend 
Cornwallis." 

"What  more?"  asked  Washington,  as 
she  hesitated. 

"John  brought  them;  yes  he  did.  Oh, 
it  was  dark — truly  it  was,"  she  added 
earnestly,  as  the  two  men  scrutinized  her 
closely.  "I  jus'  s'posed  John  came  to 
take  Martha,  when  I  was  asleep.  I  am  so 
'fraid.  I  wanted  her  to  hide,  /always 
do,  so  he  won't  find  me;  'cause  he  says, 
'Martha,  thou  art  foolish  to  care  for  the 
foundling.'  But  I  am  hers — yes  I  am. 
Friend  Hezekiah — well,  he  is  different, 
and  he  says,  'To  be  sure  the  child  is  not 
'born".'  So  when  John  came,  I  ran  into 
my  room." 

172 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  child  ceased  speaking,  as  if  she  had 
told  all  she  had  to  say,  when  Washington 
again  recalled  her  to  the  story  of  the  vis 
itors.  "Did  you  hear  anything  more?" 

"I  am  so  thirsty,"  said  the  artless 
child. 

Seeing  her  exhausted  condition,  from 
the  rapid  and  excited  manner  in  which 
she  had  told  the  startling  news,  they 
gave  her  the  water,  and  allowed  her  to 
rest  a  few  moments.  Then  Washington 
said,  "What  about  Cornwallis  and  Howe. 
Did  you  hear  them  talk?" 

"Oh,  yes!  John  said  they  must  be 
alone.  Friend  Hezekiah  was  going  to 
put  them  in  the  best  room,  but  one 
thought  it  seemed  cold  and  there  was  a 
big  fire  where  they  were.  Then  I  was 
trembling  for  fear  they  would  hear  me ; 
and  my  door  would  not  stay  closed, 
'cause  the  latch-string  was  gone;  and  I 
just  jumped  on  the  bed,  and  hid  my  head 
in  under  the  pillows,  and  put  Martha's 
cloak  before  me  and  on  me,  'cause  it  was 
jus'  like  a  curtain  on  the  high  post.  And 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Howe  came  in  and  looked  at  the  window 
and  felt  the  cloak  and  my  dress.  'Cause 
they  look  jus'  like,  he  did  not  see  me,  I 
s'pose.  My  feet  were  hid  in  my  dress. 
And  he  must  be  such  a  fraidy,  'cause  he 
looked  under  the  bed,  and  Martha  says 
only  foolish  women  do  that.  Then  thou 
shouldst  have  heard  them  talk,  'cause  it 
was  most  'bout  thee.  And  then  a  man 
came.  He  was  not  dressed  the  same, 
and  he  said  'General  Howe;'  and  she 
tried  to  give  the  military  salute  as  she 
said  he  did,  "So.  Friend  Hezekiah  says 
thou  must  not  do  anything  to  make 
one  feel  proud.  And  then  the  man 
told  Howe  and  Cornwallis  where  thou 
wert,  and  that  thou  seemed  to  want  to 
fight  or  something  that  meant  it.  Dost 
thou?" 

"Time  can  answer  better  than  I." 
"Then,"  continued  Arabella,  "Friend 
George  Washington,  I  have  brought  thce 
something.     See!"    And  she  took  an  egg 
from    the    bottom    of    the    basket,     and 
handed  it  to  him.      He  was  struck  by  its 
174 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

lightness.     "Thou  canst  see  the  hole!" 
she  exclaimed. 

He  looked.  At  the  end  was  one  she 
had  made,  from  which  to  drink  the 

egg- 
No  suspicion  crossed  his  mind. 
"Well,    little    girl,    what    shall    I    do 
now?" 

"Break  it.  There  is  something  in  it 
for  thee." 

A  slight  pressure,  the  shell  lay  crumbled 
in  his  hand  and  with  it  a  paper,  twisted 
very  small  like  a  cornucopia.  He  took  it 
up  and  spread  it  out.  The  trio  were  as 
silent  as  death  while  General  Washing 
ton  read.  Then,  without  comment,  he 
folded  it  up. 

"Friend  George,  he  said  something 
too.  Shall  I  be  'brewing'  if  I  tell  thee?" 
"No,  child,  older  heads  than  yours 
have  done  the  'brewing'.  Proceed  and 
tell  me  every  word  you  can  remember." 
"Howe — I  never  call  Tories  Friends — 
Howe  jus'  said,  when  the  man  told  him 
thou  wast  here,  he  was  glad.  Yes,  he 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

did,  'cause  he  said  he  would  make  thee 
starve.      Is  n't  that  being  hungry?" 

"Go  on.  What  more  do  you  remem 
ber?" 

"Oh,  he  said  thou  must  be  cut  off  on 
the  roads  to  Lancaster  and  Philadelphia. 
Yes,  he  did ;  and  I  jus'  guess  he  said 
something  like  its  being  better  than 
fighting  to  keep  thee  here.  Now,  I 
must  hurry  back,  'cause  Martha  will 
wonder." 

"How  did  you  get  here,  child?" 
"I   jus'  walked  all  the  way.      S'posin' 
I  can't  find  any  one  to  carry  me  back.     I 
am  too  small  to  ford  the  river." 

"How  did  you  cross  to  come  here?" 
"Oh,  the  man  who  told  General  Howe 
'bout  thee  met  me  in  the  woods,  and  I 
asked  him  to  please  bring  me  over,  'cause 
I  wanted  to  give  the  eggs  to  a  Friend. 
And  then  I  told  him  I  saw  him  at  Heze- 
kiah's  house,  and  he  had  apple-butter  for 
breakfast.  And  Jie  did  not  look  in  my 
basket  at  all,  'cause  he  s' posed,  I  guess, 
there  was  only  nothing  much,  but  he  made 
176 


"Break  it.      There  is  something  in  it  for  thee." 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Mother  Meg  search  my  clothes  and  my 
basket,  too.  Then  he  took  me  on  his 
back  'cause  he  b'lieved  I  would  have  to 
go  to  Chadd's  Ford  for  Daniel  to  carry  me 
over.  He  did  bring  me  to  thee — yes  he 
did;  but  I  s'pose  he  is  a  really,  truly 
Tory.  I  s'pect  I  best  like  him  though. 
Now,  I  must  go,  quick,  'cause  I  did  not 
tell  I  was  going  to  Daniel's." 

"Who  is  Daniel?"  asked  General 
Washington. 

"Martha's  brother.  He  says  I  was 
not  'born',  so  I  jus'  call  him  Daniel." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  not  being 
'  born'  ?' '  LaFayette  asked,  speaking  to  her 
for  the  first  time  since  she  came  in.  He 
had  been  watching  her  with  mingled  feel 
ings  of  curiosity  and  surprise. 

"I  s'pose  'cause  I  am  not  really,  truly 
'born'  with  these  clothes  on.  Martha 
said  'Wilt  thou  like  to  wear  clothes  like 
mine?'  She  was  'born'." 

General  Washington  seemed  to  take 
slight  notice  of  the  dialogue  between  La 
Fayette  and  the  child,  and  he  recalled 
177 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

her  to  her  story,  which  had  deep  interest 
for  him. 

"You  are  a  brave  child.  And  now  I 
must  know  how  you  got  this  note." 

Arabella  told  every  detail  of  her  flight 
to  the  wood-shed,  and  she  added,  "When 
Martha  told  me  to  empty  the  dish-water, 
but  be  sure  not  to  throw  it  before  our 
kitchen  door,  I  jus*  took  it  to  the  barn 
yard  ;  and,  while  there,  I  got  the  egg, 
drank  what  was  in  it,  and  took  this  paper 
out  of  my  shoe  and  put  it  in  the  shell.  I 
s'pect  it  will  be,  oh,  so  dark  when  I  get 
home.  I  hope  Martha  will  be  fixing 
Friend  Hezekiah's  night-cap  on,  and 
taking  his  wig  off,  and  opening  his  bed. 
It  takes  her  ever  so  long,  'cause  thou 
seest  Friend  Hezekiah  says,  'Martha, 
thou  art  too  sprightly  for  thy  father. 
Thou  must  take  time,  'cause  it  maketh 
me  pant.'  Yes,  he  does.  So,  I  will  have 
lots  of  time  before  I  see  her  in  the 
kitchen,  and  I  can  jus'  s'pose  I  have 
been  there  a  long  time." 

LaFayette  spoke  aside  to  the  General, 
178 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

and  then,  approaching  Arabella,  who 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  elevated 
position,  lifted  her  down.  As  he  did  so, 
he  placed  his  fingers  under  her  chin  and 
raised  her  head.  He  seemed  to  look  at 
her  face,  while,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
studied  the  scar.  Washington  scanned 
it,  while  LaFayette  engaged  the  child  in 
conversation.  Then  he  left  the  marquee, 
General  Washington  still  questioning  his 
youthful  visitor. 

"Are  you  going  to  Daniel's?" 

"No,  'cause  I  can  not  tell  Martha.  I 
want  to  hurry  home  fast  as  ever  I  can. 
Oh,  see  my  dress!  All  egg!" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  noticed  it. 

LaFayette,  with  another  man,  came 
in  just  in  time  to  hear  her  say,  "Martha 
will  feel  so  bad,  'cause  she  always  does 
when  I  destroy,  'cause  she  says,  'Wee 
one,  thou  must  be  pleasing  to  Friend 
Hezekiah,  and  to  be  so  thou  must  not 
need  much  in  the  way  of  dresses  or  bon 
nets,  'cause  they  are  extra.  And  now 
see!"  pointing  to  her  stained  dress. 
179 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  Marquis  de  la  Rouerie,  who  had 
come  into  the  tent  with  LaFayette,  said 
in  French,  "This  is  a  brave  soldier  girl, 
Marquis." 

Arabella  replied  in  French:  "No,  I 
am  not  brave,  'cause  I  was  dreadfully 
frightened,  and  that  made  me  break  my 
eggs." 

LaFayette,  in  a  smiling,  teasing  way, 
again  placed  his  finger  under  her  chin 
and  said  "Marquis,  see  the  ring  of  gold 
around  her  mouth."  The  three  men 
now  closely  eyed  the  scar.  The  child, 
as  she  gazed  at  the  new-comer,  nervously 
and  impulsively  exclaimed,  ' ' Thou  lookest 
like  my  papa!"  Then,  frightened  at  her 
own  words,  she  hastily  added  "But  I'm 
Martha's  now." 

"Who  was  your  papa  before  Martha 
had  you?"  the  Marquis  inquired  in 
French. 

"I  must  go  now." 

"Will  you  tell  me  where  you  live?" 

"Only  a  few  miles;  jus'  by  Jack  Allen's 
house." 

180 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

It  so  happened  Jack  was  the  name  of 
the  Oak's  father. 

"Is  that  so?  I  know  him,"  said  Gen 
eral  Washington. 

"Dost  thou?  I  call  him  Oak;  and  his 
father  is  a  soldier,  too." 

"You  must  mean  a  son  of  Captain 
Jack.  Their  farm  is  by  the  cross-roads." 

"That  is  jus'  side  of  Friend  Heze- 
kiah's  house,  too.  Where  is  my  bonnet? 
Oh,  where  is  it  ?  Is  it  lost  ?' '  she  inquired, 
as  she  did  not  see  it  after  turning  around 
several  times. 

"Here  it  is,"  said  LaFayette.  "What 
did  you  say  your  name  was?" 

"Arabella." 

"Well,  here  is  your  bonnet." 

As  she  placed  it  on  her  head,  General 
Washington  brought  a  wet  towel,  and 
began  removing  the  egg  from  her  dress. 

' '  It  all  comes  off. ' '  And  the  three  men, 
two  of  them  holding  the  little  skirt  out, 
while  the  third  rubbed  the  spots,  wiped 
away  all  traces  of  the  accident. 

"Always  remember  what  you  have 
181 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

done  for  me  to-day,  and  that  I  shall  never 
forget  you,"  said  Washington. 

"Wilt  thou  please  give  me  one  of  thy 
pretty  buttons,  so  I  can  show  Oak." 

"Yes,  and  tell  Jack  Allen  to  keep  it  for 
you  until  you  are  grown  up,  or  the  war  is 
over,  and  the  Quakeress  will  let  you 
have  it;  but  do  not  show  it  to  them 
now,"  he  said,  as  he  handed  her  the  cov 
eted  treasure  he  had  cut  from  his  coat. 

Then  a  lunch  was  brought  the  child ; 
and,  as  she  ate  it,  the  men  noticed,  for 
the  first  time,  her  wet  feet  and  damp 
cape.  When  she  was  ready  to  start  they 
wrapped  her  in  a  dry  cloak,  and  sent  her 
with  a  man  on  horseback. 

"It  would  take  you  a  long  time  to 
walk  it,  and  it  is  past  noon, ' '  said  her  host. 

"I  am  so  'fraid  John  will  find  out," 
said  Arabella. 

"No,  he  will  not."  And  seeing  her 
seated  behind  the  guardsman  on  the 
horse's  back,  the  three  men  took  her  lit 
tle  hand,  each  in  turn,  in  his,  and  General 
Washington  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
182 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"You  have  risked  even  your  life  to 
help  save  America. ' ' 

Arabella  started  for  home  all  uncon 
scious  of  the  tumult  which  existed  on 
that  day  in  the  camps  of  the  opposing 
parties,  and  her  close  proximity  to  the 
scenes  of  a  battle. 

As  the  men  again  entered  the  marquee, 
LaFayette  said:  "I  tell  you,  General,  I 
have  noted  that  birth-mark  too  often  on 
the  neck  of  the  Prince  de  Gra  to  be  mis 
taken.  She  is  in  some  way  connected 
with  him.  In  what  manner,  however, 
may  remain  a  mystery.  The  Marquis, 
here,  well  remembers  it." 

"Yes,  it  is,  I  think,  exactly  the  same." 

"And  the  strange  thing  to  me  is  the 
child's  perfect  French,  although  living 
with  Quakers.  And,"  said  LaFayette, 
"from  her  childish  talk  of  their  form  of 
speech,  she  is  evidently  adopted,  which 
seems  to  be  distasteful  to  the  sect.  This 
Martha  she  speaks  of  is,  beyond  ques 
tion,  gentle  and  loving  to  her." 

"From  the  affection  the  little  child 
183 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

bears  her,  she  must  take  the  place  of  a 
mother  to  her,"  replied  Washington. 

Then  LaFayette  said:  "Marquis  take 
down  her  name  and  the  facts,  and  I  will 
do  the  same.  If  I  fall  in  battle,  promise 
me  you  will  see  the  Prince,  if  you  return 
to  France,  and,  if  not,  you  will  write  and 
lay  this  remarkable  circumstance  before 
him." 

"And,  General,  if  we  both  meet  death, 
to  you  is  left  the  duty  of  learning  to 
whom  your  little  hero-worshiper  be 
longs." 

Thus  the  compact  was  sealed  between 
them. 

Arabella  made  quick  time  in  gaining 
the  Oak's,  where  she  went  to  tell  her 
adventure  before  returning  home.  She 
saw  Jack  at  the  well  as  she  advanced  to 
ward  the  house. 

"Hello,  Birdie.  I  have  been  looking 
for  you  all  day." 

"Oak,  I  have  much  to  tell  thee.  Come 
to  a  place  all  by  ourselves;  and  it  best 
be  in  the  house." 

184 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Once  alone  with  him,  she  related  the 
exciting  experiences  of  the  day.  He 
seemed  stunned.  "  You  did  it,  Birdie?" 

"No,  I  did  not  alone,"  she  replied. 
"Howe,  Cornwallis,  George  Washington 
— oh,  he  is  so  tall  and  wears  his  sword 
and  boots  with  spurs.  Didst  thou  know 
it? — and  the  Marquis  an'  LaFayette — he 
has  red  hair,  oh,  so  red! — and  mean  old 
John  and  me  too,  all  helped  do  it;  so 
there!  And  now  I  will  leave  my  cloak 
here  and  my  basket,  too,  and  thou  wash 
the  egg  off,  when  thou  hast  time.  Wilt 
thou  walk  home  with  me  jus'  as  s'posin 
I  had  been  here  all  day?  Friend  George 
Washington  said  old  heads  did  brew 
first." 

"And  did  you  tell  Washington  about 
brewing?" 

"Course  I  did,  and  'bout  Martha.  Oh, 
canst  thou  not  take  her  something  to  di 
vert  her?  'cause  when  Friend  Hezekiah 
gets  to  pondering  'bout  anything,  she 
jus'  says,  'I  will  go  and  divert  father. 
Then  he  will  not  think  'bout  worrying.'  ' 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

"How  will  cider  do?" 

"Jus*  the  best  thing,  'cause  ours  is 
not  ready,  and  Martha  likes  it." 

A  pail  was  filled,  and  they  started. 

"Birdie,  I  think  you  are  the  bravest 
little  girl  that  ever  lived." 

"Dost  thou?  Then  do  thou  jus'  treas 
ure  this  button  until  Martha  tells  me  she 
is  a  wig.  Then  I  can  take  it  from 
thee." 

"She  never  will." 

"Yes,  she  will,  'cause  some  day  I  will 
tell  her  that  thou  art,  and  thy  father 
and  all  thy  brothers  are.  Then,  when 
she  hears  that,  I  will  whisper  softly  in 
her  ear,  'Martha,  I  am  too,  'cause  John 
and  Daniel  wanted  to  send  me  way,  and 
they  are  Tories;  and  the  Oak  and  all  be 
longs  to  him  want  me  to  stay,  and  they 
be  wigs;  and  then,  Martha,  thou  want- 
est  me  to  stay  with  thee,  so  thou  art  a 
wig  like  me,  too !'  ' 

"I  would  not  be  much  surprised  if  she 
did  turn,  if  you  tell  her  that  story  just  as 
you  have  told  it  to  me." 
186 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  Quakeress  was  in  the  yard  when 
they  reached  the  farm-house. 

"Why,  child,  where  hast  thou  been  so 
long?  Oh,  wee  one!  I  was  only  wait 
ing  for  the  chore-boy  to  come  in  to  send 
for  thee." 

"Did  I  trouble  thee?  I  am  so  sorry!" 
And,  throwing  back  her  bonnet,  she 
turned  her  face  up  to  the  Quakeress  to 
be  kissed. 

"Miss  Martha" — 

"Just  Martha,  please,  Jack,"  said  the 
gentle-voiced  woman.  "Friends  never 
speak  after  that  manner." 

And  the  boy,  fearful  of  erring  again 
by  too  much  politeness,  cut  short  his  re 
marks  by  saying  "I  have  some  cider  for 
thee." 

"That  is  very  thoughtful.  I  am  truly 
pleased  to  know  thou  didst  remember 
me." 

"And,"  continued  Jack,  taking  cour 
age,  "I  would  like  to  ask  you  to  forgive 
Arabella  for  remaining  away  so  long; 
there  was  so  much  for  her  to  do  to-day." 
187 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Thou  knowest  Arabella  is  a  tender 
hearted  child,  and  will  not  leave  thee 
while  she  can  do  thee  a  service.  So,  in 
the  future,  when  there  are  many  things 
to  detain  her,  do  thou  send  little  Henry 
over  to  inform  me." 


1 88 


CHAPTER  IX 

Two  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the 
ninth  of  September,  1777,  and  the  day 
following  Arabella's  visit  to  General 
Washington,  found  Red  Clay  Creek  being 
deserted  by  the  American  army ;  and 
Howe,  to  his  surprise,  learned  that  they 
were  posted  on  high  ground  at  Chadd's 
Ford.  The  Brandywine  had  been  crossed, 
and  a  most  desirable  position  had  been 
secured.  Sullivan  was  given  command 
of  the  right  wing  that  the  fords  above 
might  receive  protection,  while,  for  a  dis 
tance  of  some  two  miles  below,  General 
Armstrong,  with  the  Pennsylvania  militia, 
stood  guard. 

Before    the    next    morning,  the  tenth, 

two  columns  of   the   British   marched  to 

Kennett  Square,  about   seven  miles  from 

the  post  of  Washington.      The  farmers  at 

189 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Chadd's  Ford  and  about  that  part  of  the 
country,  took  fright,  and,  notwithstand 
ing  the  promises  of  General  Howe  to  the 
people,  that  they  or  their  property 
should  not  be  molested,  many  of  them 
left  their  homes  to  seek  a  place  of  greater 
safety.  Among  those  who  fled  was 
Daniel  with  his  family.  He  reached  his 
father's  house  in  great  excitement,  tell 
ing  them  that  the  Whigs  were  in  posses 
sion  of  the  Ford,  and  it  was  possible  the 
disturbance  would  reach  Hezekiah's. 

"Do  thou  remain  here  in  peace,  Dan 
iel,"  said  his  father.  "Thou  art  as  safe 
here  as  on  the  road." 

Jane  was  helpless;  and  the  children, 
not  realizing  from  what  danger  they  fled, 
but  out  of  pure  sympathy,  dropped 
scalding  tears  down  their  plump  little 
cheeks.  Arabella  tried  to  amuse  them, 
and  went  about  fearlessly.  She  had  seen 
Washington,  and  she  trusted  him. 

Thus  two  days  passed  at  Hezekiah's  in 
supplication  and  anxiety.  John  rode 
over  on  the  tenth,  but  Hezekiah  did  not 
190 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

reveal  the  purport  of  his  hurried  visit. 
And  then  the  roar  of  cannon  was  heard 
in  earnest.  Peal  after  peal  rang  through 
the  air.  Jane  was  almost  in  a  frenzy  of 
fright,  but  Martha  closed  her  white  lips 
tight,  and  Arabella  was  kept  close  to  her 
side,  while  they  ministered  to  the  wants 
of  the  little  children  of  Daniel.  Jack 
could  not  leave  the  boys,  so  all  that  long 
day  Arabella  and  he  did  not  see  each  other. 
The  battle  of  Brandywine  commenced 
on  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  of  Sep 
tember,  17/7.  Day  had  just  dawned 
when  General  Cornwallis,  with  his  divi 
sion,  was  moving  along  the  Lancaster 
road.  It  was  his  plan  to  surprise  the 
Americans  by  opening  fire  upon  the  right 
wing  commanded  by  Sullivan,  and  Knyp- 
hausen,  with  a  show  of  cannon  and  com 
motion,  was  to  gain  the  attention  of 
Washington  who,  in  fact,  was  being  sur 
rounded  from  east  and  west.  At  nine 
o'clock  a  fog  enveloped  that  part  of  the 
country,  sentries  were  misled  as  to  their 
own  party,  and  confusion  arose. 
191 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  hill  in  close  proximity  to  the  Bir 
mingham  meeting-house  was  reached  by 
Cornwallis.  Washington  encouraged  his 
men  by  appearing  before  them,  and  the 
cheers  at  sight  of  their  commander  told 
of  their  devotion  to  him.  The  conflict 
ing  information  he  was  receiving  at  that 
time  was  a  cause  of  the  gravest  anxiety 
to  him  ;  and  the  results  of  the  day  proved 
that  it  was  not  without  reason. 

At  last,  the  true  situation  was  discov 
ered,  but  it  was  all  too  late  to  benefit  the 
American  cause.  Sullivan  was  not  in 
readiness  to  meet  the  attack  of  Cornwal 
lis,  which  was  severe  and  marked  by 
haste.  The  American  forces  held  out 
until  overtaken  by  eventide,  when,  dis 
couraged  and  beaten,  they  fled  in  distress 
and  confusion  to  Chester,  while  the 
water  of  the  Brandywine  went  on  its 
course,  reddened  with  the  blood  of  foes 
that  were  brothers.  The  bleeding  and 
dying  had  not  only  slaked  their  thirst 
theie,  but  had  left  their  life  blood,  as 
they  forded  the  stream. 
192 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

During  the  night  that  portion  of  the 
American  army  that  had  been  engaged 
on  the  Brandywine  reported  at  Chester, 
having  reached  there  by  different  routes, 
leaving  the  enemy  in  possession  of  the 
scene  of  the  late  conflict. 

On  the  twelfth,  General  Washington 
led  his  vanquished  men  from  Chester, 
their  faces  turned  toward  Philadelphia. 
They  went  into  camp  near  Germantown, 
where  they  rested  a  short  time,  and  re 
ceived  a  new  supply  of  ammunition  and 
hope.  The  latter  was  much  needed. 

About  three  weeks  had  elapsed  since 
the  battle  of  Brandywine,  and  General 
Washington  had  been  almost  constantly 
on  the  move.  He  crossed  and  recrossed 
the  Schuylkill,  and  took  post  at  Penni- 
becker's  Mills.  Howe  was  encamped  at 
Germantown,  and  General  Washington 
only  waited  an  opportunity  to  give  the 
enemy  fight,  wherever  they  might  meet. 
The  hour  arrived  sooner  than  he  ex 
pected  it ;  but  again  fog  had  its  dire  effect 
upon  the  American  cause,  and  the  great 
193 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

commander  knew  that  his  men  were  again 
in  full  retreat. 

To  General  Washington  it  was  not  only 
a  sorrow,  but  a  mortification.  And  still, 
from  the  pyre  of  the  vanquished  warrior's 
hopes,  rose  a  beacon  light  whose  radiance 
stretched  across  the  blue  Atlantic,  from 
shore  to  shore,  and  penetrated  the  hearts 
of  those  who  heard  of  the  brave  struggle 
against  adversity.  The  loss  of  German- 
town  became  the  means  of  proving  to 
France  the  magnificent  courage  of  the 
American  general  in  command.  The  help 
ing  hand  of  that  country  was  extended, 
and  clasped  in  fellowship  that  of  America. 

Cold  weather  soon  set  in,  and  Wash 
ington  began  to  think  of  winter  quarters. 
His  men  were  suffering  for  the  necessaries 
of  life,  and  he  saw  but  one  course  to  pur 
sue;  go  into  camp  for  some  months.  But 
where?  The  protected  ground  of  Valley 
Forge  in  Montgomery  County,  Pennsyl 
vania,  seemed  to  meet  the  demand.  It 
is  surrounded  by  high  hills  known  as  Mt. 
Sorrow,  and  through  it  flows  East  Valley 
194 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Creek,  which  empties  into  the  Schuylkill 
River.  Here  Washington  brought  his 
men  to  sufferings  and  misery  that  pen 
fails  to  describe.  With  bleeding  feet  and 
almost  naked  bodies,  the  soldiers  worked, 
building  their  quarters.  Often  they  took 
upon  themselves  the  burden  of  dragging 
the  improvised  vehicles  filled  with  neces 
sary  articles,  and  many  carried  wood  and 
other  packs  on  their  backs. 

So  great  was  the  need  of  clothing 
that  some  of  the  men  could  not  endure 
the  exposure  while  working  on  the  huts 
in  which  they  must  live.  Here  in  this 
beautiful  valley,  the  brave  suffered  and 
died  a  death  harder  than  that  met  on  the 
battle-field.  Sickness  and  starvation  only 
found  relief  in  the  "long  sleep  that  knows 
no  waking."  General  Washington,  with 
his  wife,  encouraged,  cared  for  and  prayed 
for  the  suffering  men  through  those  long 
days.  But  the  end  came  at  last ;  and 
from  the  valley  of  the  shadow  to  the 
mountain  top  of  fame,  they  marched 
away. 

195 


CHAPTER  X 

The  exciting  scenes  of  war  had  passed 
away  from  the  country  about  Hezekiah's 
farm.  Daniel  and  his  family  had  re 
turned  home,  and  things  at  Martha's 
moved  along  as  usual.  Only  Arabella  and 
the  old  Quaker  were  restless;  the  child, 
because  Jack  was  troubled  about  his 
father,  and  the  old  man  on  account  of 
the  disturbing  news  John  brought. 

He  did  not  believe  a  Friend  in  the 
right  to  take  so  active  a  part  in  the 
war. 

"I  am  convinced  that  if  the  elders  talk 
with  John,  thou  needest  not  be  surprised 
to  hear  he  has  been  disowned,"  he  said, 
in  mournful  tones,  to  his  daughter. 

"Father,  John  believes  thou  art  in  the 
wrong  because  thou  takest  so  little  in 
terest." 

196 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Knowest  thou  not  we  are  never  to 
exert  political  influence?  'Keep  out  of 
the  powers  of  the  earth,'  was  Fox's  ex 
hortation.  Dost  thou  think  John  is  so 
doing?  War  is  forbidden,  even  if  we 
suffer  much.  If  the  elders  learn  of  his 
seeming  willingness  to  favor  bloodshed, 
he  may  be  exhorted  and  admonished  that 
he  is  walking  contrary  to  the  standard 
of  his  birth-right  inheritance,  and  thou 
knowest  the  committee  appointed  at  the 
monthly  meeting  might  decide  to  disown 
him." 

''Do  not  be  troubled  father.  Thou 
art  doing  thy  duty." 

And  Jack  was  trying,  at  the  same  time, 
to  decide  what  was  his  duty  between  his 
country  and  his  brothers.  "What  will 
Arabella  say?"  he  would  wonder. 

They  were  seated  around  the  open  fire. 
The  boys  were  cracking  nuts  and  drink 
ing  cider,  and  Arabella  was  the  center  of 
attraction,  as  she  mended  stockings  and 
set  a  patch  here  and  there. 

Jack  had  been  unusually  quiet,  having 
197 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

concluded   that   this    would    be   the  best 
time  to  speak  of  his  determination. 

"Boys  and  Arabella,  I  am  going  to  the 
war." 

"Going  to  war!"  all  exclaimed  in  one 
voice. 

"Yes,  I  am." 

Then,  while  silence  fell,  the  youngest 
brother  exclaimed,  "I  will  be  a  soldier, 
too!  See  if  I  won't." 

As  his  information  had  excited  no  com 
ment  he  added,  "And  I  will  be  a  Gen 
eral,  too." 

"You  will?"  replied  Jack.  "And  what 
will  you  make  me?" 

"You  can  all  be  dess  soldiers,  and  do 
the  work;  and  I  will  ride  on  a  big  horse 
and  watch  you." 

"Oh!  Well  said,  and  what  will  you 
do  in  battle?"  asked  Spruce. 

"Put  you  in  front,  and  go  back  and 
watch  you  get  hit." 

"You  may  get  it  yourself,"  said  Bass. 

"No,  I   won't,    'cause   I'll  hide,  so   I 
can  come  home  and  tell  all  'bout  it." 
198 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

One  by  one,  the  youthful  voices  spoke 
their  willingness  to  follow  their  eldest 
brother  into  the  army.  Some  as  drum 
mers,  and  Maple  as  fifer.  Then,  when  at 
last  the  five  boys  had  arranged  their 
plans,  Arabella,  no  longer  able  to  control 
her  grief,  exclaimed,  wiping  her  eyes  and 
rising  suddenly,  "And  me?" 

"You!     You!"  they  shouted. 

"Yes,  me." 

"Why,  you  are  a  girl!  What  can 
you  do?" 

"I  can  bind  up  the  bleeding  hearts." 

Then  Jack  dropped  his  chin  on  his 
breast  and  said,  "Yes,  you  would  know 
just  how;  but  you  can  never  leave  home." 

"Never  mind,  Oak,  thou  wilt  see.  I 
am  going  to  tell  it  this  very  night  after 
supper,  when  Friend  Hezekiah  goes  to 
sleep.  Yes,  I  will,  Jack." 

"But  Martha  will  not  consent." 

"Yes,  she  will,  'cause  I   will  just  say, 
'Thou  teachest  me  that  the  Lord  would 
have  thee  help  everybody;'  and,  Martha, 
do  n't  that  mean  me  too?" 
199 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Jack  looked  amazed. 

"Well,  we  will  see." 

Arabella's  work  was  over  for  the  day. 
Something  had  happened. 

"Why  do  you  go  so  early?"  asked  the 
boys. 

"Oh,  'cause  I  want  to  see  Martha." 

No  amount  of  persuasion  could  keep 
her,  so  Jack  walked  over  to  the  farm  with 
her. 

The  evening  seemed  long  to  the  little 
girl;  but  at  last  Hezekiah  had  finished 
his  supper  and  was  sleeping  in  his  corner. 

"Martha,  s'posin'  thou  dost  sit  here 
in  the  kitchen.  I  would  like  to  talk  to 
thee."  And  drawing  a  rocking-chair  up 
before  the  warm  fire,  Arabella  tenderly 
led  the  Quakeress  to  it.  "Dear  Martha, 
wilt  thou  sit  down  and  hold  me?" 

"What  hast  thou  on  thy  little  heart?" 
she  said,  gently  placing  the  child's  head 
on  her  shoulder,  as  she  took  the  seat,  and 
her  arm  was  about  her. 

"Thou  didst  hold  me  jus'  like  this  on 
the  boat,  dost  thou  remember?" 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Yes,  wee  one." 

"Thou  didst  take  me,  'cause  thou  didst 
think  thou  ought  to  then.  Didst  thou?" 

"Yes,  child,"  she  answered,  much 
wondering  at  her  memory. 

"Thou  didst  not  care — didst  thou, 
Martha?  —  if  I  was  a  Tory  or  a  wig?  ' 

"No,  child,  thou  wert  what  I  wanted." 

"Why?" 

"First,  because  thou  didst  need  me." 

"Martha,  didst  thou  think  the  Lord 
moved  thee  to  take  me?" 

"I  saw  thou  didst  need  me;  then  I 
learned  I  needed  thee." 

"Didst  thou  feel  moved?" 

"Thou  art  too  close  in  thy  questioning, 
child.  I  was  not  only  moved  to  take  thee, 
but  my  heart  longed  for  thy  tender  love." 

The  little  hand  was  placed  on  Martha's 
cheek. 

"Martha,  I  do  love  thee  best  of  all." 

The  Quakeress  kissed  her  brow  and 
rocked  her  chair  faster,  while  she  brushed 
a  tear  from  her  eye  that  was  not  seen  by 
the  child.  The  light  was  dim. 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

"Martha,  dost  thou  love  me?  Tell  me 
again.  It  makes  me  feel  so  light,  and 
when  I  displease  thee,  I  am,  oh,  so 
heavy.  I  cannot  carry  myself  from  thy 
side  until  thou  smilest  on  me  again. 
Dost  thou  love  me,  sayest  thou?" 

The  Quakeress  caught  her  small  form 
to  her  heart. 

"Love  thee!  Oh,  yes,  more  than  is 
good  for  thee  or  me!  My  life  is  bound 
up  in  thee.  It  is  too  late  now  to  undo 
the  love-knot  that  binds  thee  to  me." 

A  few  minutes  passed  silently. 

"Martha,  thou  art  a  wig." 

"Hush,  thou  knowest  not  what  thou 
art  saying." 

"Yes,  I  do,  Martha,  'cause  the  way  I 
know  is  jus'  this — John  does  not  love 
me,  and  he  is  a  Tory.  Daniel,  he  do  n't 
love  me  and  he  is  a  Tory.  Jane,  she  do  n't 
love  me,  'cause  I  heard  her  say  so,  and 
she  is  a  Tory.  P'raps  Friend  Hezekiah 
don't  love  me  so  very  much,  'cause  he 
wants  the  Puritans  to  have  me,  and  he  is 
a  Tory.  The  Oak  loves  me,  and  he  is  a 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

wig;  and  all  the  little  Aliens  are  wigs, 
they  love  me;  and  the  Oak's  father  loves 
me,  and  he  is  a  wig;  George  Washington 
loves  me,  and  he  is  a  wig."  And  as  Mar 
tha  gasped,  "George" — Arabella's  hand 
was  placed  over  her  mouth.  "Do  thou 
not  speak  yet,  Martha.  And  I  am  a 
wig,  and  thou  lovest  me,  so  thou  art  a 
wig  too.  Art  thou,  Martha?  'Cause, 
dost  thou  see?  wig  means  only  love. 
They  love  their  country,  Oak  says,  and 
their  homes.  Thou  lovest  this  country 
now,  jus'  like  thou  dost  me,  'cause  thou 
didst  take  it  for  thy  own.  Yes,  thou 
didst.  And  thou  wilt  not  let  John  take 
me,  and,  Martha,  thou  wilt  not  let  John 
take  thy  country." 

"Child,  England  is  my  country." 
"Martha,     dost   thou    not   think    thou 
hast    adopted     America,     jus'     like    me, 
'cause  thou  hast  us  both  for  thine?     We 
are  thy  foundlings." 

To  this  the  Quakeress  made  no  reply, 
but  said, ' ' Thou  hast  not  told  me  how  thou 
knowest  George  Washington  loves  thee." 
203 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"  'Cause  he  was  so  nice  to  me." 

"Where,  child,  hast  thou  seen  Wash 
ington?" 

With  arms  clasped  about  the  Quaker 
ess'  neck  she  told  her  of  her  visit  to  him. 

"And  he  cleaned  the  egg  off  my  dress, 
so  thou  wouldst  not  feel  sorry  it  was 
spoiled." 

"Arabella,  if  my  father  knew  about 
this  he  would  be  greatly  displeased." 

"Oh,  thou  knowest  Friend  Hezekiah 
says  'Thou  must  be  kind  to  every  one.' 
He  was  kind  to  Howe.  He  set  the  ex 
ample,  so  I  followed  it.  Thou  hast  told 
me  to.  And  I  was  kind  to  George 
Washington.  We  must  be  good  to 
everybody,  Friend  Hezekiah  says." 

"Child,  thou  art  strange  to  understand. 
I  fear  this  has  all  come  through  Jack." 

"Oak  did  not  know  'bout  George 
Washington  till  I  told  him  when  I  got 
home.  Cornwallis  told  'bout  Washing- 

o 

ton,  and  how  he  was  going  to  fool  him. 
Thou  tellest  me  not  to  fool,  'cause  it  is 
not  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord." 

204 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Child,  thou  hadst  better  go  to  bed." 

"Not  yet,  'cause  thou  hast  more  to 
hear.  George  Washington  is  at  Valley 
Forge,  and  his  soldiers  are  sick ;  and,  dear 
Martha,  thou  wert  good  to  me  when  I  was 
strange  to  thee  and  sick.  Thou  didst 
teach  me  then  how  it  feels  to  have  some 
one  kind.  May  I  take  Sorrel  and  the 
wagon,  and  some  of  thy  jellies,  and 
Friend  Hezekiah's  old  clothes,  and  lots 
of  things,  and  go  to  Valley  Forge? 
Please  say  'Yes,'  'cause  I  want  them  to 
know  how  good  thou  art,  too,  and  that 
Quakers  are  friends." 

"It  is  time  thou  wert  asleep,  wee  one. 

"Martha,  thou  art  not  displeased  with 
me?" 

"No,  child,  thou  canst  keep  thy  heart 
light." 

"Oh,  please,  please  let  me  sleep  with 
thee." 

"Why,  Arabella?" 

"  'Cause,  if  thou  art  moved,  I  want  to 
keep  close  to  thee,  so  thou  wilt  be  moved 
my  way." 

205 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

"I  fear  thou  hast  already  opened  my 
eyes  to  the  suffering  so  near  me.  Do  as 
thou  desirest  about  the  night." 

"Martha!  Martha!  Now  I  know 
thou  hast  commenced  being  moved,  when 
thou  sayest  thine  eyes  are  being  opened. 
When  thou  art  moved,  how  does  it  open 
thine  eyes?" 

"There,  child,  if  thou  art  going  to 
Valley  Forge  on  fourth  day,  thou  must 
go  to  rest  now.  Not  another  word  to 
night,"  and  kissing  the  child,  she  dis 
missed  her. 

The  daughter  took  her  seat  by  the 
open  fire  near  her  father,  and  began  to 
knit  vigorously.  At  last  Hezekiah  spoke: 
"Thou  seemest  unusually  quiet." 

"Yes,  father.  I  have  heard  so  much 
of  the  suffering  at  Valley  Forge,  it  hath 
somewhat  called  my  duty  to  humanity 
into  question." 

"Where  hast  thou  heard  about  it?" 

"Arabella  informed  me." 

"Umph!  The  child!  Where  hath 
she  learned  it?" 

206 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"From  various  sources.  Friend  John 
hath  so  spoken  before  her  that  she  feels  he 
is  wrong,  if  she  is  to  follow  thy  teachings — 
to  be  equally  kind  to  the  just  and  unjust. 

'The    child    hath    so    far    spoken  my 
mind,  Martha." 

Then  the  knitting  needles  flew  faster 
and  faster. 

"Father,  she  desires  me  to  permit  her 
to  take  something  to  Valley  Forge  for 
the  sick  and  suffering.  Art  thou  willing 
she  should  so  relieve  humanity?" 

"Do  thou  not  lay  any  obstacle  in  the 
way,  if  our  teaching  hath  so  opened  her 
youthful  mind  that  she  is  moved  to  do 
this  thing." 

"It  is  well  decided.    I  feel  convinced." 

The  next  morning  Arabella's  delight 
knew  no  bounds  when  she  found  herself 
behind  the  sorrel  horse.  The  light 
wagon  was  filled  with  articles  of  clothing 
as  well  as  provisions,  and  by  her  side  sat 
Martha. 

"Father,"    the    Quakeress    had    said, 
"Who  will  go  with  the  child?" 
207 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Thou  hadst  better  accompany  her." 

After  a  long  ride  they  drove  into  the 
camp  at  Valley  Forge,  where  they  found 
no  difficulty  in  being  taken  to  the  com 
mander  when  their  errand  was  known. 

"Friend  George  Washington,  this  is 
Martha,"  was  the  introduction  given  by 
Arabella,  as  she,  with  her  protectress, 
stood  before  the  General. 

"Little  girl,  you  have  done  well  to 
come  and  bring  us  another  friend,  for 
we  are  in  sore  need  of  nurses."  And  to 
the  young  woman  the  hand  of  friendship 
was  given. 

All  through  the  long  weeks  of  the 
winter,  the  sorrel  horse  and  the  child 
were  watched  for  at  Valley  Forge.  She 
always  brought  the  young  Quakeress, 
who  knew  so  well  how  to  relieve  suffer 
ing,  and  who  was  now  happier  than  at 
any  other  time  since  her  arrival  in  Amer 
ica. 

"Arabella,"  she  said,  "thou  hast   led 
the  way  to  much  good  to  me  in  enlarging 
my  knowledge  of  Whigs." 
208 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Jack  had  left  his  home  during  this  try 
ing  season,  and  the  little  girl  found  much 
more  to  do  for  the  boys;  but  Martha 
now  helped  her,  and  was  her  confidant 
in  all  things. 

"Thou  canst  now  keep  Washington's 
coat  button,  'cause  thou  art  a  wig,  Mar 
tha." 

"Yes,  thou  mightest  trust  his  entire 
coat  with  me,  for  I  find  I  have  been 
guilty  of  turning  the  Tory  top-coat  at 
least." 

Spring  found  Arabella  ready  to  go  to 
Philadelphia  to  attend  a  Quaker  school. 
Martha  had  said  "Thou  must,  child; 
thou  canst  come  home  for  the  seventh 
day,  but  thou  must  learn  something 
now." 

"Oh,  how  can  I  leave  thee?  I  can 
not  do  it.  Thou  must  go  too." 

At  last  the  Quakeress  was  persuaded 
to  spend  a  short  time  with  the  child,  who 
was  then  more  reconciled  to  her  new  con 
dition. 

Her  mind  developed  rapidly,  and  her 
209 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

loving  ways  made  her  the  pet  of  all  her 
companions.  But  she  waited  and 
watched  for  Martha,  when  the  time  ar 
rived,  on  which  she  went  back  to  spend 
the  day  at  Friend  Hezekiah's  farm. 

Jack  was  in  Philadelphia  during  the 
summer,  and  when  he  went  to  see  his 
little  friend,  he  was  not  turned  away 
because  he  wore  the  American  uniform. 


210 


CHAPTER  XI 

The  following  winter  the  Marquis  de 
LaFayette  felt  called  upon  to  return  to 
France,  and  to  his  beloved  friend  he  told 
his  wishes.  General  Washington  wrote 
to  the  President  of  Congress,  asking  that 
a  leave  of  absence  be  granted  Major-Gen 
eral  Marquis  de  LaFayette.  On  October 
the  sixth,  1778,  at  Fishkill,  the  Marquis 
bade  farewell  to  the  Great  Commander, 
and  went  immediately  to  Philadelphia, 
where  he  opened  his  business  with  Con 
gress  by  letter,  setting  forth  his  reasons 
for  asking  permission  to  leave  America. 
Now  that  his  country  was  involved  in 
war,  he  said,  he  was  led  by  a  sense  of 
duty,  as  well  as  patriotism,  to  present 
himself  before  his  king,  and  know  in  what 
manner  he  chose  to  employ  his  services. 
He  also  added:  "So  long  as  there  was 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

any  hopes  of  an  active  campaign,  I  did 
not  think  of  leaving  the  field,  but  now,  in 
a  peaceful  and  undisturbed  moment,  I 
take  the  opportunity  of  waiting  upon 
Congress." 

In  Congress,  October  the  twenty-first, 
1778,  it  was  resolved  "that  the  Marquis 
de  LaFayette,  Major- General  in  service 
of  the  United  States,  have  leave  to  go  to 
France,  and  that  he  return  at  such  a  time 
as  shall  be  most  convenient  for  him." 

Soon  after  the  granting  of  his  furlough, 
he  repaired  to  Boston  and  embarked  for 
France,  and  arrived  in  Paris  on  the  elev 
enth  of  February,  1779,  where  he  was,  re 
ceived  by  his  Majesty  with  a  cordial  wel 
come. 

In  a  magnificent  palace  in  Paris,  the 
Duke  de  Gra  greeted  the  Marquis  de  La 
Fayette.  The  old  friends,  for  such  they 
were,  had  much  to  talk  about  that  had 
happened  since  last  they  had  met.  The 
Duke  listened  with  deep  interest  to  all 
the  General  had  to  relate  of  his  American 
life,  and  then  the  Marquis  said,  "Duke, 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

tell  me  of  yourself.  You  have  aged,  if  I 
may  be  pardoned  the  freedom  of  an  old 
friend  in  saying  so." 

"Yes,  LaFayette,  time  and  trouble 
have  placed  their  hands  heavily  upon 
me." 

"You  have  lost  your  father,  and  you 
now  represent  your  house." 

"Yes,  Marquis,  and  tired  is  the  head 
that  honor  rests  upon;"  and  he  lay  back 
against  his  cushioned  chair  in  a  weary 
way.  As  he  did  so  the  mark  beneath  his 
chin  caught  the  eye  of  his  visitor,  who 
flushed  at  the  thought,  and  said  to  him 
self,  "How  is  it  best  to  broach  the 
strange  facts  I  have  become  possessed 
of?"  Then  aloud: 

"Duke  I  wonder  that  you  have  never 
married." 

"How  do  you  know  but  that  I  have?" 
"Oh,  I  am  pleased  to  hear  it." 
"Mind,    LaFayette,    I   did   not   say  I 
had." 

"No,  I  believe  you  did  not." 
Then,  after  some  moments   of  silence 
213 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

on  the  part  of  both,  the  Marquis  said:  "I 
should  like  to  give  you  the  history  of  a 
peculiar  circumstance  that  occurred  one 
day  while  we  were  encamped  on  Red 
Clay  Creek,  near  the  battlefield  of 
Brandywine,  if  you  will  not  consider  me 
obtrusive.  I  saw  one  there  who  reminded 
me  of  you." 

Calmly  the  Duke  gazed  into  the  speak 
er's  eyes. 

"Who  was  it?     Man  or  woman?" 

"A  child." 

The  listener  started  from  his  chair. 

"In  what  way,  Marquis?" 

"The  scar  beneath  the  chin." 

"Merciful  heaven!  Is  it  possible?  Tell 
me  every  detail." 

LaFayette  began  with  the  child's  ap 
pearance  before  him,  and  her  conference 
with  Washington,  and  the  compact  be 
tween  the  Marquis  de  la  Roeurie  and 
himself  to  make  known  the  strange  fact. 

"The  child's  name;  did  you  learn  it?" 

"Arabella." 

"There  is  no  further  room  for  doubt. 
214 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Ask  me  no  questions  now.  This  much  I 
will  say  only :  I  owe  you  the  greatest 
debt  a  man  can  owe  another.  I  shall 
start  for  America  at  once.  Write  out 
names,  places,  and  everything  that  will 
bring  me  to  a  speedy  meeting  with  these 
Quakers  when  once  I  land  in  America. 
I  fear  to  ask  the  question  that  preys  upon 
my  thoughts,  even  at  this  early  moment 
after  your  disclosure;  but  unless  my 
mind  is  set  at  rest  it  will  be  unbearable 
before  I  reach  my  destination." 

"What  is  it  you  would  know?  You 
had  better  allay  your  anxiety." 

A  nervous  contraction  of  the  lips,  which 
almost  seemed  to  tremble,  again  brought 
the  child  vividly  before  the  Marquis. 

After  a  struggle  with  himself  that  the 
man  could  not  conceal,  he  said:  "Had 
you  any  means  of  knowing  whether  these 
Quakers  are  good  to  the  child?" 

LaFayette  saw  the  hand  clinch,  as  it 
hung  at  his  side. 

"Put  your  fears  to  flight.     The  child, 
the  little  Arabella,  seemed  to  worship  the 
215 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Quakeress,  and  the  winter  at  Valley 
Forge  proved  her  to  be  gentle  and  tender 
as  ever  a  woman  was. 

Grasping  his  friend  by  the  hand,  the 
Duke  said,  "To  you  shall  be  told,  upon 
my  return,  a  remarkable  story,  to  which, 
I  believe,  you  have  furnished  the 
sequel." 

The  Marquis  knew,  when  he  took  his 
leave,  that  the  disturbance  of  his  country 
did  not  weigh  as  heavily  on  the  heart  of 
the  Duke  de  Gra,  as  did  some  secret  sor 
row. 


216 


CHAPTER  XII 

Martha  had  the  doors  and  windows  of 
the  farm-house  open.  Cleaning  was  just 
completed  and  everything  was  in  order, 
for  Arabella  would  be  coming  home  in  a 
few  days  for  a  short  vacation.  There 
was  the  smell  of  fresh  straw  under  the 
carpets,  and  in  the  breeze,  blowing 
through  the  house  at  will,  wild  flowers, 
which  Maple  brought  her  each  day, 
nodded  their  heads,  and  the  clean, 
fresh,  white  curtains  swayed  back  and 
forth. 

A  rap  sounded  from  the  old  brass 
knocker.  Martha  was  startled.  It  was 
the  first  time  it  had  been  used  since  she 
had  lived  in  the  house;  for  strangers 
came  often  to  the  kitchen,  and,  if  very 
formal,  to  the  side  entrance.  At  first  the 
Quakeress  did  not  comprehend  what  it 
217 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

was,  and  again  came  the  sharp  rap.    This 
time  it  fell  twice  upon  the  stillness. 

"That  is  at  the  door  of  the  best  room. 
Wilt  thou  go?"  spoke  Hezekiah. 

She  left  her  spinning-wheel  and  hur 
riedly  went  to  answer  the  summons.  As 
the  door  opened,  a  man  stood  with  his 
back  to  it,  looking  out  over  the  farm.  It 
was  noiselessly  thrown  back,  as  it  was 
already  ajar  to  let  in  the  fresh  air.  He 
was  recalled  quickly  by  Martha's  voice. 

"Thou  here!"  and  a  deadly  pallor 
spread  over  her  face.  The  dark  stranger 
gazed  in  astonishment,  as  she  fairly 
gasped,  "Oh,  no,  not  thou!" 

The  visitor  stepped  in  uninvited.  They 
looked  excitedly  at  each  other;  then  the 
stranger  inquired,  "Is  this  Hezekiah  the 
Quaker's  farm?  Are  you  Martha,  his 
daughter?" 

At  last  the  Quakeress,  in  full  com 
mand  of  herself,  said:  "Why  dost  thou 
ask  the  idle  questions?  Thou  knowest  I 
recognize  in  thee  the  father  of  the  child 
Arabella. ' ' 

218 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Her  visitor  now  was  composed  and 
quiet,  as  he  replied,  "You  seem  to  have 
the  best  of  this  interview.  I  have  never, 
to  my  knowledge,  seen  you  before." 

"Art  thou  not  the  man  who  came 
across  the  ocean  with  us  in  the  'Anne 
and  Elizabeth?'  ' 

Hezekiah,  hearing  Martha's  voice  in 
agitated  tones,  came  into  the  room  at 
this  point. 

"Father,  dost  thou  know  this  man?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  he  is  the  child's 
father."  And  he  continued:  "Thou  art 
rather  late — thinkest  thou  not — in  claim 
ing  thy  child,  after  deserting  her  as  thou 
didst?" 

"I  do  not  understand  either  one  of 
you,"  explained  the  stranger.  "If  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  inform  me  of 
what  you  consider  me  guilty,  I  may  be 
able  to  answer  some  of  your  accusa 
tions." 

"Father,  canst  thou  believe  any  one  so 
bold  as  to  deny  himself,  when  we  know 
it  is  the  man  who  was  the  child's  compan- 
219 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

ion?  Even  to  the  scar  under  the  chin, 
the  features  are  the  same." 

"My  good  people,  I  wish  you  would 
sit  down,  and  listen  to  me." 

"Thou  seemest  more  courteous  than 
thou  didst  on  the  ship." 

Not  heeding  his  hostess'  remarks,  the 
stranger  went  on:  "Some  years  ago  my 
child  was  taken  from  me"- 

"Thou  dost  mean,"  said  Martha, 
"thou  didst  leave  her  on  the  boat." 

"No,  my  good  people,  there  is  some 
terrible  secret  here.  /  did  not  leave  my 
child  on  any  boat." 

"Thou  didst  not?  Then  we  have 
naught  to  do  with  thee,  or  thou  with  us. 

"My  friends,  answer  one  question:  Is 
Arabella  living  and  well?" 

Father  and  daughter  kept  a  stoical  si 
lence  for  a  time. 

"Thou  must  prove  thy  right  to  so 
question,"  said  Hezekiah,  at  last.  "If 
thou  art  truthful  about  not  leaving  the 
child,  then  we  have  nothing  to  do  with 
thee." 

220 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"May  I  see  her?"  asked  the  man,  ap 
parently  much  disturbed. 

This  did  not  escape  the  young  wo 
man. 

"Thou  seemest  easily  moved  now,  but 
thou  didst  care  nothing  for  her  when 
thou  wouldst  have  struck  her." 

"Struck  her!"  repeated  the  dark 
stranger.  "Strike  my  Arry!  Oh,  no, 
never.  Can  I  see  my  child?" 

"Thou  canst  not  now,  for  the  little  girl 
is  not  here." 

"Not  here  with  you!"  he  exclaimed, 
unable  to  control  his  feelings.  "Where 
is  she?" 

"Away  at  school." 

The  man  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands  and  groaned  aloud.  "In  mercy, 
friends,  take  me  to  her." 

After  a  few  moments  meditation, 
Hezekiah  said:  "Remain  thou  here,  and 
Martha  will  go  for  the  child." 

There  seemed  no  alternative,  and,  as  it 
was  quite  early  in  the  day,  Martha  could 
reach  the  city  before  night.  As  soon 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

as  the  sorrel  could  be  brought  round, 
the  Quakeress  was  ready  to  start  on  her 
gloomy  errand.  The  dark  stranger 
stood  irresolute  before  her  only  a  mo 
ment,  then  he  asked:  "Will  you  do  me 
the  favor  not  to  tell  my  daughter  that  I 
am  here." 

"She  would  be  hard  to  persuade  to 
come  if  I  did,"  was  her  only  reply. 

When  the  two  men  were  alone,  the 
older  one  said:  "Before  thou  ever  takest 
the  child,  thou  must  give  me  proof  thou 
wilt  not  again  desert  her;"  and,  as  the 
other  attempted  to  speak,  the  Quaker 
silenced  him  by  holding  up  his  hand. 

"Do  thou  first  hear  me  out.  I  fear 
this  will  cause  Arabella  great  grief  to  be 
separated  from  Martha;  and,  as  for  my 
daughter,  I  fear  thou  wilt  break  her  heart, 
for  she  is  deeply  attached  to  the  little 
girl." 

The  stranger  pressed  his  handkerchief 
to  his  eyes. 

"I  will  explain,  if  possible" — 

His  host  interrupted  him.      "No,  thou 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

hadst  better  tell  it  before  the  child  and 
Martha." 

The  time  seemed  long  for  the  two 
men,  and  more  so,  as  Hezekiah,  although 
showing  every  hospitality  to  his  guest  as 
regarded  his  comfort,  did  not  seem  in 
clined  to  talk. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  following, 
the  sun  took  its  farewell  peep  from  be 
hind  the  hills  to  the  west  of  the  Quaker's 
farm-house,  then  sank  to  rest  beyond. 
The  cow-bells  rang  out  on  the  stillness, 
and  the  katy-dids  chirped  their  carol, 
while  the  toads  hopped  from  side  to  side 
in  the  path  of  the  dark  stranger,  as,  with 
restless  step,  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
road-way  over  which  they  must  come. 
On  hearing  the  sound  of  wheels  approach 
ing,  he  entered  the  house  and  stood  by  a 
window.  As  Martha  threw  the  reins 
over  the  dash-board,  Arabella  jumped 
out. 

"Wait  thou  for  me.  There  is  a 
stranger  in  the  house." 

"Who,  Martha.  Wilt  thou  tell  me?" 
223 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"I  want  thee  to  tell  me,  child." 

"Who?  No  one  to  take  me  from  thee, 
is  it?" 

The  visitor  stepped  out  on  the  porch. 
One  look,  and  the  child  threw  herself 
into  her  protectress'  arms. 

"Wilt  thou  hide  me?  Oh,  dear,  Mar 
tha,  do  n't  let  me  go;  wilt  thou?" 

The  Quakeress  and  Hezekiah,  who  had 
now  joined  them,  stood  mute. 

The  Frenchman  spoke.  "Any,  do  n't 
you  know  me?" 

She  did  not  reply,  but  kept  her  head 
hid  in  the  woman's  dress.  She  had  taken 
her  bonnet  off  before  reaching  the  house, 
and  now  her  yellow  curls  clustered  about 
her  neck,  for  they  had  always  been  kept 
the  length  they  were  when  she  first  came 
to  America. 

"Any,  do  n't  you  remember  me?" 

The  agony  in  his  voice  seemed  to 
touch  the  child.  She  gave  a  side  glance 
at  the  man. 

"Any,  do  you  know  when  you  last 
saw  me?" 

224 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

In  muffled  tones  came  the  answer: 
"Thou  wert  on  the  boat,  and  fell  when 
thou  didst  want  to  strike  me." 

"Any,  I  can  bear  this  no  longer! 
Look  at  me!"  and  he  took  the  child  in 
his  arms.  So  sudden  was  the  action,  she 
could  not  resist.  "Look  at  me!  Oh, 
yes,  you  are  my  own  little  Any!"  he  ex 
claimed,  as  he  raised  her  head  and 
glanced  under  her  chin.  "Your  mam 
ma's  hair!  Don't  you  remember  me?" 

"Yes — but  you  took  me  from  mam 
ma!"  she  exclaimed. 

"No,  you  are  mistaken,  /did  not." 
Now  sitting  down  with  the  child  on  his 
knee,  he  said:  "Tell  me  everything  you 
can  remember  about  your  leaving." 

The  Quakers  stood  back, silent  listeners. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  me  from  Mar 
tha?" 

"Not  if  you  do  n't  want  to  go,  Arry." 

Thus    reassured,    she    looked    at    him 
again.      He  took  her   face   in  his  hands, 
and  kissed  her  eyes,  her  brow,  her  lips. 
Then  her  arms  were  around  his  neck. 
225 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Thou  art  my  truly  papa." 

"Yes,  your  father;  who  never  took 
you  from  your  mamma." 

Drawing  away  from  him,  she  said: 
"Then  who  was  the  man  just  like  thee?" 

"I  am  not  sure,  Arry.  Tell  me  your 
story — all  you  can  remember.  But,  first, 
have  you  my  picture?" 

From  beneath  the  neck  of  the  gray 
dress,  she  drew  forth  a  little  chain  and 
locket. 

"See,  papa." 

He  took  it  and  touched  a  secret  spring. 
Before  him  was  his  own  likeness  set  in 
diamonds. 

"You  are  indeed  mine."  And  he  laid 
his  head  on  hers,  and  wept. 

"Papa,  thou  didst  tell  me  never  to 
open  it  for  any  one  but  thee  or  mamma; 
and  I  never,  never  have." 

"Arry,  have  you  not  opened  this  for 
the  people  who  have  been  so  kind  to 
you?" 

"Never,  since  thou  didst  give  it  to  me 
when  thou  didst  take  me  on  thy  shoulder 
226 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

and  didst  love  me.      It  was  my  birthday 
present,  dost  thou  remember?" 

"Child,  child,  did  your  mother  go  with 
you?" 

"Oh,  no;  you  told  me  on  the  boat  she 
was  dead." 

"Any,  who  took  you  away  from  mam 
ma?"  the  man  asked  in  trembling  ac 
cents. 

"Thou,  papa,  thou  didst.  Why  dost 
thou  ask  me?" 

"Where  were  you?     Tell  me  all." 

"I  was  in  the  garden,  when  thou  didst 
call  me,  and  Mademoiselle  was  playing 
hide  with  me.  I  went  behind  the  hedge, 
and  thou  didst  speak  to  me  over  the  wall, 
and  said,  'Come,  dear.  I  will  hide  thec,' 
and  I  gave  thee  my  hands  and  thou  didst 
help  me  up.  Then  thou  didst  take  me 
in  the  road  a  little  way  to  a  carriage,  and 
then  to  a  place  where  thou  didst  give  me 
more  clothes,  not  these;  and  then  we 
went  on  the  boat,  and,  papa,  thou  didst 
tell  me  I  had  no  mamma.  And  then 
thou  didst  leave  me  with  Martha." 
227 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Any,  it  was  not  I  that  took  you. 
You  were  kidnapped." 

"Papa,  he  looked  just  like  thee.  Oh, 
yes,  it  was  thou,  'cause  I  put  my  hand 
on  thy  chin  on  the  boat  and  said,  'Thou 
hast  the  same  as  me,'  and  thou  didst 
strike  my  hand." 

"No;  my  child,  it  was  not  I.  Did 
you  show  this  picture  to  this  other  man  ?' ' 

"No;  thou  didst  tell  me,  only  when 
thou  didst  say  so,  and  thou  didst  not  see 
it  on  the  ship;  and  Martha  just  said,  'It 
is  a  keepsake.  Thou  art  not  'born' ;  so  if 
the  Friends  knew,  they  would  not  care 
about  thy  trinket,  although  we  are  not 
allowed  jewelry.'  So  I  did  wear  it  inside 
my  dress." 

Now  turning  to  the  surprised  specta 
tors  of  this  peculiar  situation,  the 
stranger  said:  "There  has  been  a  dark 
plot  planned  by  some  one  to  deprive  me 
of  wife  and  child." 

"I  do  not  see  how  it  could  be  so  well 
done  that  thine  own  child  could  be  de 
ceived,"  said  the  Quakeress. 
228 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"You  may  well  ask  the  question;  and 
I  am  forced  to  tell  the  true  facts,  before 
you  and  the  child  will  trust  me.  But 
wait  until  morning.  The  night  is  no 
time  for  Any  to  hear  what  she  must 
know.  Secrets  are  bad  things.  I  do 
not  wish  for  another  in  my  life." 

After  a  simple  tea,  Martha  took  Ara 
bella,  who  would  not  trust  herself  out  of 
her  sight  a  moment,  and  retired. 

The  Frenchman  slept  but  little,  and 
the  dawn  of  day  found  him  walking  in 
the  fields  adjoining  the  farm.  His 
daughter  would  not  leave  Martha  to 
take  her  customary  run  before  break 
fast. 

So  her  father  did  not  see  her  until  they 
were  seated  at  the  table,  when,  to  his 
surprise,  she  addressed  him  in  French. 

"Any,  you  have  done  well  not  to  for 
get  your  native  language." 

"Martha  said  I  must  not,  because  it 
was  mine,  just  like  she  was  really,  truly 
a  Friend  because  she  has  a  birth-right  in 
heritance." 

229 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Her  father  smiled,  as  he  patted  her 
head. 

"I  have  only  one  joy  in  my  great  sor 
row  at  our  separation,  and  that  is,  you 
were  left  with  those  who  have  loved 
you." 

"Martha  dost  thou  mean?  Oh,  papa, 
thou  canst  not  tell  how  much  I  love  her. 
Thou  wilt  not  take  me  from  her,  wilt 
thou?" 

"No,  not  until  you  are  ready  to  go, 
and  help  me  to  find  mamma,  if  we  can." 

"Have  I  a  mamma?"  And  her  large, 
dreamy  eyes  had  a  far-away  look. 

"Yes,  Arry.  I  believe  your  mother  is 
living." 

"Papa,  I  want  to  see  her."  Then 
suddenly,  "If  Martha  will  go  with  me." 

"My  child,  I  wish  to  tell  you  and  your 
friend,  I  shall  never  take  you  from  her 
until  you  are  willing  to  go ;  so  do  not 
fear." 

When  the  duties  of  the  morning  had 
been  completed,  the  father  of  Arabella 
asked  that  they  would  give  him  a  few 
230 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

moments.     Taking  his   daughter   on  his 
knee,  he  began  his  story. 

"When  quite  a  young  man,  and  before 
I  had  completed  my  university  course,  I 
met  Arabella's  mother.  She  was  of 
English  parentage,  but  an  orphan.  She 
had  been  placed  in  a  French  convent  by 
her  guardian,  and  it  was  by  the  merest 
chance  I  made  her  acquaintance.  She 
was  out  with  a  nun  one  day  shopping, 
when  she  became  separated  from  the 
sister  by  some  accident.  As  she  was 
rudely  accosted  by  some  one  in  the 
crowded  thoroughfare  the  young  lady 
appealed  to  me  for  protection,  informing 
me  that  she  had  lost  her  companion.  I 
was  just  about  to  step  into  my  carriage, 
which  I  told  her  was  at  her  service.  She 
declined  it,  saying  she  preferred  to  walk; 
that  if  she  could  once  reach  a  certain 
cathedral  she  could  find  her  way.  I  con 
stituted  myself  her  guide.  This  chance 
meeting  ripened  into  a  deep  friendship, 
which  later  led  to  our  union.  I  then 
learned,  for  the  first  time,  she  was  an 
231 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

heiress  of  great  wealth.  She  had  in 
formed  me  that  her  father  had  been  a 
haberdasher  in  London.  This,  I  knew, 
cut  her  off  from  recognition  by  my  peo 
ple,  for  I  was  the  son  of  the  Due  de 
Gra." 

"A  nobleman,"  thought  Martha;  but 
Hezekiah  and  she  gave  no  sign  that  they 
comprehended  he  was  other  than  a  man 
without  rank. 

"Then,"  continued  the  stranger,  "I 
purchased  a  chateau,  and  my  wife  and  I 
took  possession  of  it.  We  lived  in  seclu 
sion,  as  I  had,  for  various  reasons,  not 
ventured  to  tell  my  father  of  my  mar 
riage.  This  was  a  great  mistake;  but  I 
made  it.  For  eight  years  we  dwelt  in 
our  home  without  a  shadow  crossing  our 
path,  and  the  last  day  I  spent  there  with 
this  child  and  her  mother  had,  I  feared, 
closed  all  happiness  for  me." 

"Thou  dost  not  speak  as  the  father 
did  on  the  boat,"  interrupted  Martha. 

"I  tell  you,  my  friend,  I  was  not  on 
the  ship  with  you." 

232 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"That  is  where  I  cannot  trust  thee,  for 
I  must  believe  my  own  eyes  and  those  of 
my  father,"  replied  the  Quakeress. 

"Listen  patiently.  The  sad  part  of  my 
story  is  to  come,  and  it  is  only  for  my 
child  it  is  revealed.  I  was  called  to  Lon 
don  the  day  after  the  one  which  Arry 
mentions  on  which  she  received  the 
locket.  On  my  return  to  France  I  was 
prevented  from  going  to  the  chateau  by 
a  dispatch  from  my  wife,  requesting  me 
to  wait  for  her  in  Paris.  The  message 
was  addressed  to  the  Prince  de  Gra,  and 
signed  Arabella.  I  could  not  understand 
it,  for  I  had  never  told  her  what  my  title 
was.  I  went  by  the  name  of  Meras. 
Well,  she  did  not  come,  and  I  returned 
to  our  home  to  find  it  deserted." 

"Then,"  asked  Friend  Hezekiah, 
"who  took  the  child?" 

"Of  that  later,"  replied  the  stranger. 
"No  one  knew  anything  more  than  I 
did.  Some  of  the  servants  saw  her  go, 
but  seeing  me,  as  they  thought,  they  sup 
posed  that  I  was  assisting  her  to  hide.  A 
233 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

note  was  sent  by  a  messenger  to  my  wife, 
and  that  night  she  left  her  home.  She 
gave  no  clue  as  to  her  destination,  and 
no  one  at  the  chateau  could  tell  at  what 
hour  she  left,  or  how.  And  until  the 
Marquis  de  LaFayette  returned  to  Paris, 
and  told  me  of  the  meeting  he  had  with 
the  little  child  and  her  resemblance  to 
me,  I  had  no  idea  of  her  whereabouts. 
I  immediately  arranged  to  take  the  first 
vessel  for  America;  and  here  I  am." 

"But  thou  hast  not  told  how  thou  canst 
account  for  the  man  on  the  boat,"  said 
Hezekiah. 

The  stranger  sat  looking  at  the  floor 
for  several  minutes.  Then,  quickly 
throwing  up  his  head,  he  said:  "Do  you 
see  this  scar?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  Quaker.  "And  I 
saw  it  on  thee  when  I  first  noticed  thee 
at  breakfast  on  the  vessel." 

"Man,  I  tell  you  I  was  not  on  the  ship 
with  you." 

"Then  who  was?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"My  twin  brother  has  the  birth-mark." 
234 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Why  dost  thou  think  he  would  do 
such  a  thing?"  asked  Hezekiah,  now 
thoroughly  excited. 

"His  probable  motive  I  cannot  discuss. 
He  lived  in  another  country,  and  married 
to  please  our  father.  My  brother  had  a 
son  born  to  him  about  the  time  Arabella 
was  lost.  I  am  satisfied  that,  in  some 
way,  he  became  possessed  of  my  secret, 
and  stole  my  child  and  caused  my  wife 
to  disappear." 

Martha  and  Arabella  had  been  aston 
ished  listeners  all  through  this  thrilling 
story;  but  at  last  the  young  woman  found 
voice.  "Did  thy  brother  ever  return?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"And  where  didst  thou  think  he  was 
during  his  absence  in  this  country?" 

"My  brother,  from  his  early  infancy, 
was  delicate,  and,  as  his  health  was  better 
out  of  France,  and  his  tastes  led  him  to 
travel,  he  spent  little  time  in  one  place. 
He  was  always  jealous  of  my  succeeding 
to  the  title,  and  after  his  marriage  to  a 
woman  of  rank  in  a  country  friendly  to 
235 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

France,  this  feeling  of  envy  seemed  to 
increase  toward  me.  His  revenge  has 
been  most  cruel.  You  can  realize  how 
thankful  I  am  that  this  most  unnatural 
brother  left  my  child  in  such  worthy 
hands." 

Arabella  would  have  been  hard  to  con 
vince  about  the  twin  brothers,  had  she 
not  in  the  school  she  attended  in  Phila 
delphia  made  the  acquaintance  of  twin 
sisters.  They  were  ever  a  source  of  mis 
taken  identity  to  her,  and  unless  they 
were  seen  together  she  called  them  one. 
And  the  idea  of  her  father  having  a  twin 
brother  frightened  her. 

"Papa,  then  thy  brother  might  take 
me  again,  and  I  would  think  it  thee. " 

"No,  you  will  never  mistake  us  again." 

"Thou  hadst  better  be  Friend  Heze- 
kiah's,  just  like  me." 

"If  your  friend  is  willing  to  have  me, 
I  will  remain  for  a  time." 

"As   the   child's   father  thou   art  wel 
come  to  such  as  we  have,  if  it  please  thee 
to  accept  it,"  said  the  Quaker. 
236 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"You  are  very  kind  to  offer  me,  a 
stranger,  such  hospitality,  and  I  shall  be 
exceedingly  glad  to  avail  myself  of  the 
opportunity  to  be  near  my  daughter," 
replied  the  Duke. 

"Oh,  then  papa,  thou  wilt  be  a  Friend, 
too!  Friend  Raoul  thou  art  now." 

He  looked  in  astonishment  at  her,  then 
said:  "How  did  you  know  my  name?" 

"Mamma  used  to  call  you  that." 

"You  have  a  wonderful  memory,  my 
child.  Yes,  I  am  Raoul." 

"Art  thou  happy  to  live  here  and  be  a 
Friend?" 

"My  daughter,  I  am  very  much  grati 
fied  to  be  in  any  position  that  re-unites 
me  to  you." 

"Then  we  are  all  Quakers  now,  Friend 
Hezekiah,  'cause  we  love  Martha — yes, 
and  thee,  too." 

And  so  the  Duke  was  domiciled  at  the 
farm.  Arabella  did  not  return  to  school, 
but  her  father  constituted  himself  her 
teacher.  Together  they  walked  over  the 
green  sward  day  after  day,  she  giving 
237 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

vivid  pictures  of  her  past  life  in  America, 
and  either  in  the  background  or  the  fore 
ground  of  each  new  view  appeared  the 
Oak,  until  the  Duke  became  curious  to 
see  this  boy  hero,  who  was  fighting  in  his 
country's  cause.  He  was  exerting  every 
influence  to  tempt  the  child  to  the  home 
beyond  the  seas,  but  with  no  avail.  And 
here  she  showed  her  great  penetration 
into  character.  She  seemed  to  divine 
Martha's  sorrow  at  seeing  her  affections 
transferred  to  another,  and  she  re 
doubled,  if  possible,  her  attentions  to  the 
Quakeress,  until  the  Duke,  in  despair, 
felt  he  should  never  have  the  first  love  of 
his  child,  and  he  did  not  see  how  she 
was  ever  to  be  induced  to  go  to  France. 
Jack  and  Martha  were  her  constant 
theme,  and  he  discovered  the  fact  that 
she  was  happy  at  Jack's  farm  talking  of 
him. 

One  morning,  in  their  customary  walk, 
they   went    to   see    the    boys.      To   Ara 
bella's    delight    and    surprise    she    found 
the   Oak  had   just   arrived   on  a  furlough 
238 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

of  a  few  days.  The  Duke's  astonishment 
was  great  when  he  saw  before  him,  not 
the  small  boy  he  expected,  but  a  man 
he  seemed  from  his  stature.  He  quickly 
realized  that  his  little  English  sparrow 
had  drooped  her  wings  and  rested  in  the 
strong  Oak,  whose  roots  were  firmly 
grounded  in  American  soil. 

"Jack,  where  didst  thou  come  from?" 
she  asked,  the  first  surprise  over. 

"Stony  Point." 

"Were  you  in  that  engagement?" 
asked  the  Frenchman. 

"I  had  the  good  fortune  of  being  one 
of  the  number  selected  to  capture  that 
stronghold." 

"Were  there  many  with  you  on  the 
march?" 

"Twelve  hundred  men  were  sent 
through  the  swamps;  but  we  cared  not, 
for  triumph  awaited  us.  Victory  makes 
all  hardships  a  pleasure.  The  saddest 
thing  which  befell  us,"  he  added,  "was 
Wayne's  fall. ' '  And  as  he  recounted  that 
General's  noble  conduct,  his  face  lighted 
239 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

up,  and  then,  in  a  modest  way,  he  in 
formed  Arabella,  who  was  an  intent 
listener,  how  it  was  his  arms,  that  had 
supported  Wayne  when  he  was  wounded. 

Then,  when  Arabella  thought  he  was 
going  to  change  the  subject,  she  said, 
"Tell  more,  Oak.  Thou  art  so  good; 
just  like  Friend  George  Washington,  to 
try  and  save  this  country." 

The  Duke  lost  his  interest  in  war  ac 
counts,  but  the  anxiety  to  get  his  child 
out  of  America  was  redoubled. 

The  following  day  Arabella  was  not 
around  the  farm,  and  her  father  thought 
he  would  walk  over  to  the  Aliens',  and 
see  if  she  was  there.  He  found  her  sit 
ting  on  the  back  porch,  and  the  Duke 
stood  at  a  little  distance,  listening  to  the 
conversation. 

"Oak,  thou  art  the  dearest,  best  boy 
in  all  the  war,  and  I  do  love  thee  and 
Martha.  And  now  thou  wilt  take  all  thy 
brothers  with  thee,  and  the  house  will  be, 
oh,  so  lonely  to  me,  when  I  come.  Thou 
hadst  better  leave  Maple  with  Martha." 
240 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"No,  Birdie,  he  must  go  and  use  his 
fife.  He  is  needed  too.  Not  an  Allen 
must  fail  in  his  duty  to  his  country." 

"I  wish  I  were  an  Allen.  Then  thou 
wouldst  take  me." 

The  Duke  gave  a  little  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  and  walked  toward  the  young 
people. 

"Any,  I  want  you  to  come  with  me." 
And  the  child  went  reluctantly  from  the 
farm. 

The  father  and  daughter  strolled  on  for 
some  time  without  remark,  as  each  was 
busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  At  last  the 
Duke  sat  down  on  a  log,  and  tenderly 
drew  the  child  to  his  side.  He  began 
the  conversation  by  saying,  "I  shall  soon 
leave  for  Paris.  Am  I  going  alone?" 

The  child  moved  nervously,  as  she  now 
sat  on  the  grass  at  his  feet. 

"Papa,  thou  wilt  see.  If  I  go,  Martha 
must ;  and  if  thou  takest  Martha,  Friend 
Hezekiah  must  go  along  too;  and  then 
the  chore-boy  and  the  sorrel.  I  expect, 
papa,  thou  hadst  better  just  leave  me 
241 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

here,  because  I  might  be  troublesome  on 
the  boat.  I  was  before,  and  Martha  took 
care  of  me." 

"My  child,  will  you  not  go  and  help 
me  find  your  mother?" 

"Dost  thou  suppose  I  could?" 

"I  think  so,  Any."  Then  he  pictured 
to  her  the  different  life  awaiting  her  in 
France. 

"Thou  canst  not  see,  because  thou  art 
not  born  a  Friend,  that  I  love  this  way 
to  live  best,  and  to  be  with  Martha  and  the 
Oak." 

"Do  n't  you  care  for  me,  Arry?" 

"Oh,  yes;  but  then  thou  canst  stay 
here  with  me." 

No  promises  of  splendor  tempted  the 
child,  and  he  determined  to  consult  the 
Quakeress  that  very  evening,  and  he 
dropped  the  subject  with  Arabella  for 
the  present. 

"I  am  going  to  return  to  my  home," 
the  Duke  said  to  his  hostess,  as  he  found 
her  alone  at  her  spinning-wheel. 

"When?"  was  her  only  response. 
242 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Very  soon.  I  should  like  to  take 
you  all  with  me ;  but,  as  Arry  tells  me, 
sorrel  and  the  farm  would  have  to  go  too, 
I  do  not  know  how  it  is  to  be  arranged. 
I  begin  to  think  I  shall  have  to  make 
the  journey  alone." 

"Wouldst  thou  take  the  child?" 
"You  and  Arry  must  decide  that." 
The  Quakeress  pulled  the  needle  out 
of  the  stocking  she  had  taken  up,  drop 
ping  all    the   stitches.      The  Duke  noted 
her   excitement,     and    thought    best    to 
leave  her  to  her  own  meditations. 

Nothing  more  was  said  about  his  de 
parture  for  a  week,  when  Arabella  sitting 
on  her  father's  knee  said:  "If  thou  wilt 
be  happier,  Martha  says  I  must  go  back  to 
Paris  with  thee;  must  I?" 

"Not  if  you  would  rather  remain 
here." 

"Dost  thou  want  me  to  go?" 
"More  than  I  can  tell  you,  my  child." 
"Then  I  will,  'cause  Martha  says  thou 
wilt  bring  me  back,  if    I   want  to  come. 
Wilt  thou?" 

243 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Yes,  I  promise  you  that." 

"Then  I  will  to  to  make  thee  happy, 
'cause  Martha  says  I  shall  be  selfish  if  I 
do  n't." 

The  Duke  took  advantage  of  this  reso 
lution,  and  a  day  was  fixed  for  the  depar 
ture.  Arabella  was  heart-broken  at  the 
thought  of  leaving  her  Martha,  but  the 
Quakeress  said,  "Thy  word  is  given. 
Thou  must."  At  last,  the  Duke,  seeing 
her  distress  of  mind,  promised  to  bring 
her  to  visit  her  friend  as  soon  as  the  war 
was  over. 

"Oh,  what  will  the  Oak  say?  But  I 
told  him  perhaps  my  papa  might  just 
take  me  anyway.  And,  Martha,  the  Oak 
said:  'Then  I  will  come  after  thee,  when 
I  am  a  man.'  Dost  thou  think  he  will?" 

"He  may,  wee  one;  who  can  tell?" 

The  parting  was  too  sad  to  be  related 
here,  and  we  leave  them  in  Philadelphia, 
where  the  Quakeress  had  gone  to  see  the 
child  off. 


244 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Upon  the  Duke's  arrival  in  London  he 
visited  the  banking-house  where  he  knew 
his  wife  could  be  communicated  with. 
He  had  made  many  fruitless  attempts  to 
appeal  to  her  feelings  through  this  source; 
but  one  reply  only  awaited  him — "The 
order  of  our  client  is  imperative;  not  to 
give  any  information  in  regard  to  her." 
No  explanations  would  be  listened  to, 
and  thus  he  was  cut  off  without  being 
permitted  to  vindicate  himself. 

But  now  with  him  was  his  daughter. 
He  took  her  to  the  bank,  and  there 
Arabella  told  the  story  of  her  capture  and 
the  long  residence  in  America.  She 
begged  them  to  forward  a  letter  to  her 
mother  from  her.  Then  she  added:  "I 
do  want  my  mamma  so  much !  Wilt  thou 
tell  her  I  do?  My  papa  brought  me  from 
245 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

America  to  help  him  to  find  her,  because 
we  love  her  so." 

"The  person  you  seek,  is  now  some 
distance  from  here.  It  will  take  time  for 
her  to  reach  you,  should  she  conclude  to 
do  so.  We  have  had  directions  to  for 
ward  nothing  to  her;  but  this  seems 
necessary,  and  she  shall  learn  your 
claim." 

The  Duke  left  the  chateau  as  their  ad 
dress,  believing  it  more  likely  to  touch 
his  wife's  heart  to  know  they  were  there. 
And  to  the  home  of  Arabella's  infancy 
the  father  and  daughter  returned.  Reli 
able  servants  had  cared  for  the  place,  and 
the  home  look  had  been  somewhat  re 
tained.  Arabella  found  her  dolls  and  her 
room  just  as  she  had  left  them.  She  went 
from  place  to  place,  looking,  with  a 
child's  curiosity,  at  every  thing  she  dis 
covered.  Her  clothes,  now  out-grown, 
afforded  her  much  amusement,  and  her 
father,  with  sad  face,  watched  the  inter 
est  manifested  by  his  child. 

In  his  wife's  boudoir  the  Duke  spent 
246 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

much  time.  One  day,  while  writing  at 
her  desk,  he  picked  up  a  small  pamphlet, 
lying  there  just  as  she  had  left  it,  for 
nothing  had  been  disturbed.  The  com 
mand  had  been  imperative,  not  to  change 
anything.  He  now  turned  the  leaves  of 
the  book.  A  note  fell  out,  and,  as  he 
read,  the  letter  swayed  in  his  hand  as  if 
caught  by  a  passing  breeze.  Beads  of 
perspiration  fell  from  his  brow.  It  was, 
at  last,  explained  why  his  wife  had 
not  remained  in  the  chateau  for  a  short 
time,  at  least,  after  the  child  left  with 
her  supposed  father.  He  had  always 
been  unable  to  comprehend  why  she 
made  no  effort  to  learn  from  him  the  rea 
son  for  his  action,  and  how  she  seemingly 
so  calmly  gave  up  her  little  one.  But 
this  page  before  him  revealed  all.  His 
Bella  had  been  told  to  leave  her  home. 
Bitter  accusations  and  threats  informed 
the  wife  her  child  was  hers  no  longer. 

The    letter  dropped     from    the    man's 
hand,  as  he  muttered  "The  villain!"  and 
shook  his  fist  at  the  absent  brother.     De- 
247 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

spair  stamped  itself  upon  his  counte 
nance,  as  he  folded  the  paper,  and  placed 
it  where  he  found  it.  Hope  was  no  longer 
his.  The  wife  of  his  heart,  he  believed, 
was  lost  to  him  as  completely  as  if  the 
tomb  of  his  forefathers  was  the  receptacle 
of  her  dust. 

From  this  time  a  sadness  that  was  al 
most  melancholy  settled  over  the  life 
and  mind  of  the  man,  and  had  its  depress 
ing  effects  on  his  daughter.  Her  father 
was  kind  and  gentle  to  her,  gratifying 
every  wish  she  expressed ;  but  he  did  not 
now  talk  to  her  of  her  mother.  With 
these  gloomy  surroundings  Arabella  be 
gan  to  pine  for  the  farm-house,  and  Mar 
tha,  and  the  back  porch  at  the  Oak's. 
The  splendor  of  the  chateau  had  no 
charm  for  her.  She  was  old  enough  now 
to  appreciate  many  of  the  peculiar  con 
ditions  about  her  life,  but  refrained  from 
questioning  her  father,  as  every  reference 
to  her  mother  had,  of  late,  seemed  to 
bring  on  one  of  .his  disconsolate  moods. 

For  some  time  this  state  of  affairs  ex- 
248 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

isted,  and  not  one  word  came  from  the 
banking-house  to  them  to  encourage  the 
thought  of  a  reconciliation  between  the 
husband  and  wife. 

One  morning  Arabella  was  partaking 
of  her  breakfast  alone.  Her  father  was 
feeling  too  ill  to  rise.  A  roll  was  before 
her,  but  from  its  crust  only  she  seemed 
to  take  a  few  crumbs.  She  was  absently 
gazing  from  the  window  near  her.  The 
falling  leaves,  just  turning  to  a  golden 
hue,  seemed  to  rivet  her  girlish  atten 
tion,  when  a  courier  appeared  at  a  turn 
in  the  garden  path.  She  gave  but  a  pass 
ing  glance  at  him,  for  the  long  waiting 
and  watching  for  the  message  he  might 
deliver  had  brought  only  heart-sickness. 
One  letter  from  Martha  had  come,  that, 
for  a  time,  made  her  grieve  for  her  and 
the  old  associations,  until  her  eyes  were 
often  red  from  weeping;  but  that  was 
the  only  news  intended  especially  for  her. 

She  now  looked  up  in  surprise,  as  a 
sealed  packet  was  placed  before  her.  Her 
nimble  fingers  broke  the  seal,  more  in  a 
249 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

curious  than  expectant  way.  It  was  not 
from  America,  she  saw.  After  reading  a 
few  words,  she  sprang  from  her  chair, 
over-turning  it,  and  thereby  astonishing 
the  dignified  servant  present,  who 
watched  her  almost  frantic  flight  through 
the  doors  and  up  the  stairs  to  her  father's 
apartment. 

"Papa   darling!     It   has   come!      Oh, 
it  really,   truly  has  come!"- — in  her  ex 
citement  she  was  again  the  "wee  one"- 
"  'cause  I  have  it." 

The  father  rose  from  his  pillow  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  missive. 
He  read  it,  and  said  excitedly,  "Send 
Jean  to  me  immediately,  and  tell  your 
maid  to  prepare  you  to  start  for  Paris  at 
once." 

"Oh,  papa,  thou  art  not  well  enough.  " 

"My  child,  the  elixir  of  life  has  been 
given  me." 


250 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Before  a  large  convent  in  Paris  stood 
the  liveried  servants  of  the  Duke  de  Gra. 
He  had  just  alighted  from  the  carriage, 
and  assisted  his  daughter  to  the  pavement. 
He  stepped  to  the  entrance  of  the  large 
building,  and,  as  he  lifted  the  great  brass 
knocker,  a  lay  sister  opened  the  door. 
He  asked  for  the  Mother  Superior,  and 
was  shown  into  a  small  room,  to  await  her 
coming.  The  Duke,  with  impatient 
strides,  paced  the  floor  of  the  narrow 
space,  while  his  daughter  looked  cau 
tiously  and  curiously  about  her. 

Presently  a  stately  and  fine-looking 
woman  appeared.  The  Duke,  with  sur 
prise,  approached  her. 

"Mother   Angeline,    is    it    possible    I 
meet  you  here  again?     It  was  from  your 
care  I  took  my  bride!" 
251 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  calm,  peaceful  expression  of 
Mother  Angeline's  face  did  not  change, 
as  she  said  "Yes,  and  you  have  brought 
Madame  Meras'  child  to  her,  I  believe?" 

The  man  was  so  confused  at  this  recep 
tion  that  he  looked  to  his  daughter  to  re 
lieve  his  embarrassment.  For  a  moment 
he  did  not  see  her.  She  had  gone  back 
of  the  Mother  Superior,  to  examine  close 
ly  her  headwear  as  well  as  her  dress. 
She  was  gazing  at  the  form  before  her 
with  astonishment.  In  the  simple  home 
of  the  Quakers  she  had  never  heard  of 
the  order  of  nuns,  and  now  she  was  walk 
ing  around  the  figure  as  she  would  inspect 
a  statue.  Only  open-eyed  amazement 
was  shown  when  she  found  the  object  of 
her  curiosity  could  speak.  Arabella 
stared,  and  forgot  to  close  her  lips  parted 
in  wonder  and  excitement. 

Her  father  spoke  her  name  twice  before 
she  answered. 

"Yes,  papa." 

"This  is  Mother  Angeline,  who  will  see 
that  you  are  conducted  to  your  mamma." 
252 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Will  you  go,  too?" 

The  father  appreciated  the  fact  that 
the  surroundings  had  disconcerted  the 
child,  and  he  felt  that  a  new  difficulty  had 
arisen.  He  ought  to  have  prepared  her 
for  all  this,  but,  as  he  had  not,  the  best 
must  be  made  of  the  situation. 

"Arabella,  you  go  to  your  mamma 
first,  and  I  will  await  you  here." 

"Oh,  papa,  art  thou  not  coming  to  see 
mamma?" 

The  question  was  sudden  and  distress 
ing;  and  the  Mother  Superior,  in  her 
cold  dignity,  simply  waited  their  arrange 
ment  of  matters. 

"You  had  better  go." 

"Are  you  ready?"  the  sister  said,  ad 
dressing  the  child. 

"Yes.  But  I  would  like  to  take  papa; 
may  I?" 

The  man  grew  pale.  This  woman  irri 
tated  him,  and  he  turned  to  a  window, 
that  she  might  not  see  the  disappoint 
ment  her  answer  would  bring.  He  felt 
as  if  he  should  burst  the  iron  bars  that 
253 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

kept  him  from  his  loved  one,  and  each 
thought  that  he  was,  at  last,  beneath  the 
same  roof  with  her,  and  could  not  see 
her,  almost  drove  him  to  frenzy. 

"Arabella,  go  to  your  mother  without 
delay.  Mother  Angeline,  if  you  will  not 
discuss  this  sad  affair  with  me,  tell  my  wife 
I  am  as  true  to  her  as  on  the  last  evening 
we  were  together,  when  she  promised 
me  her  trust  for  life  or  death.  Tell  her 
a  demon,  not  I,  wrote  the  letter  I  found 
in  her  desk,  and  to  question  the  child  for 
the  rest.  Go  now,  Arry,  and  plead  for 
your  unhappy  father. 

Woman  and  child  withdrew  from  the 
room.  Through  long  halls  Arabella  fol 
lowed  her  companion,  and,  as  she  passed 
a  sister  here  and  there,  curiosity  overcame 
fear,  and  she  would  pause  before  the  nun, 
while  she  scrutinized  her  closely.  Some 
times  a  smile  greeted  her,  but  more  often 
only  the  expressionless,  downcast  eyes. 

At  last  the  Mother  Superior  hesitated 
before  a  door  slightly  ajar. 

"Is  my  mamma  in  there?" 
254 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken,  when 
she  found  herself  clasped  in  her  mother's 
arms. 

' '  My  child  !  Thank  heaven !  At  last 
my  child  is  restored  to  me!" 

Mother  and  daughter  were  left  alone. 
Arabella  looked,  and  looked  again,  at  her 
mother. 

"My  child,  do  you  not  know  me?" 

Tears  dimmed  the  mother's  eyes  as  she 
asked,  "Are  you  not  glad  to  see  me, 
Any?" 

"Oh,  yes  mamma  dear,  with  all  my 
heart.  But  I  just  supposed  it  was  not 
you,  just  like  it  was  not  papa  who  took 
me  away." 

The  woman's  face  hardened. 

"Am  I  never  to  have  her  love  again?" 
she  said  aloud,  although  not  apparently 
speaking  to  the  child. 

"Art  thou  really,  truly,  my  own  mam 
ma,  that  put  this  locket  around  my 
neck?" 

"Child,  if  you  love  me,  place  that  out 
of  my  sight." 

255 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Why?" 

"Any,  look  at  me  closely.  Do  you 
not  recall  my  face?" 

"Yes,  but  dost  thou  not  remember  thy 
yellow  hair?" 

The  woman  placed  her  hand  to  her 
head. 

"My  darling,  I  had  forgotten.  So 
long  a  time  has  passed  since  then.  Yes, 
I  did  have  yellow  hair  like  yours  when  I 
nestled  your  head  close  to  mine." 

"Mamma,  where  is  it?" 

"Child,  it  died  with  my  heart." 

"How  dost  thou  love  me  then,  if  thy 
heart  is  dead?" 

The  mother  clasped  her  to  her  impul 
sively,  as  she  exclaimed,  "Oh,  my 
daughter,  with  my  soul,  the  only  part 
of  me  that  seems  to  have  been  kept 
alive,  and  that  by  the  good  nuns." 

"Why,  my  mamma,  did  your  yellow 
hair  die?" 

"Mourning  for  you." 

Then  Arabella  threw  her  arms  around 
her  neck,  and,  in  fancy,  she  was  back  in 
256 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

the  farm-house  with  Martha,  as  she  closed 
her  eyes  and  placed  her  face  beside  her 
mother's. 

"Now,  I  know  thou  art  really,  really 
mine,  and  I  am  so  glad." 

Sobs,  at  last,  brought  relief  to  the  wo 
man,  and  the  child  showered  kisses  on 
her  crown  of  silver  hair. 

Then  Arabella  said:  "Now,  may  papa 
come?" 

A  cold,  defiant  stare  met  her,  and  she 
drew  back  from  her  mother's  arms. 

"Suppose  thou  art  not  my  real,  true 
mamma,  because  that  is  just  the  way 
papa's  twin  acted,  so  cross  to  me." 

"I  am  not  cross  to  you,  my  darling, 
and  could  not  be.  But  do  not  ask  me  to 
see  your  father." 

"Why?" 

"Do  not  talk  about  him.  Are  you 
going  to  live  with  me  now?" 

"Oh,  yes,  truly  I  am,  and  papa  too. 
Oh,  he  is  so  tired  waiting  for  thee." 

"Arabella,"  and  now  the  lips  grew 
hard,  "I  can  not  see  him.  If  you  will 
257 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

come  and  live  with  me  I  will  leave  the 
convent  and  take  you  far  away.  Do  you 
want  to  go?" 

"And  papa,  too?" 

"No;  only  you  and  me." 

"Mamma,  wouldst  thou  have  me  kill 
papa's  heart  again,  just  like  I  did  when 
I  went  away?" 

"My  child,  I  can  not  talk  about  this 
now.  But  he  must  make  some  arrange 
ment  for  me  to  have  you  here,  and  tell" — 
she  hesitated. 

"Tell  what,  mamma?" 

"Mother  Angeline  is  conferring  with 
your  father  about  you.  And  now  must 
you  go,  my  daughter?  And  when  will  you 
come  again,  prepared  to  remain?  How 
can  I  part  with  you?" 

"Mamma,  wilt  thou  not  come  too?" 

"Child,  I  cannot."  Then  tenderly 
kissing  her  lips  and  brow,  she  said,  "I 
cannot  let  you  go." 

' '  Mamma,  I  must,  because  papa  is  wait 
ing  for  me  to  tell  him  about  thee." 

The  woman  was  deeply  moved,  as  she 
258 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

called  a  lay-sister  and  asked  her  to  con 
duct  her  to  the  outer  door. 

When  Arabella  reached  the  small  room 
in  which  her  father  awaited  her,  she 
found  the  Mother  Superior  with  him, 
and  they  were  in  deep  conversation.  As 
the  child  entered  the  room,  her  father 
bade  her  be  seated,  and  the  woman  con 
tinued  to  speak  in  a  low  voice. 

"After  receipt  of  the  note,  supposed  to 
be  written  by  you,  your  wife  waited  un 
til  the  household  had  retired,  and  then 
quietly  went  out.  She  walked  to  the  vil 
lage,  and  appealed  to  the  fathers  con 
nected  with  the  little  church,  and  they 
saw  that  she  was  conducted  in  safety  to 
us.  Upon  her  arrival  here,  she  was  taken 
desperately  ill  with  brain  fever,  and  for 
weeks  it  was  thought  she  could  not  live. 
With  returning  reason  came  the  poignant 
sorrow  that  time  has  not  assuaged.  She 
has  never  been  from  us  a  day,  and  her 
life  was  spent  in  prayer  that  she  might 
recover  her  child." 

"Any  shall  never  be  taken  from  her 
259 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

mother  again,"  said  the  Duke,  as  he 
struggled  for  self-control.  Then  rising, 
he  exclaimed:  "Mother,  I  have  given 
you  my  story!  Do  you  feel  there  is  any 
power  that  ought  to  keep  me  from  my 
wife?" 

"No.     I  do  not  feel  I  have  it,  at  least." 
"Will  you  lead  me  to  her  room?" 
"That  I  can  not  permit.      It  is  some 
time  since  the  Angelus  has  ceased.     You 
will   find   her  in  the  chapel  alone.      Fol 
low  me." 

' '  May  I  ask  you  why  I  could  never  see 
you  or  get  a  message  delivered  to  you 
until  now.  I  have  been  here  many  times 
in  the  past  years." 

"You  must  remember  that  your  wife 
believed  that  it  was  from  you  she  received 
the    cruel    treatment.       You    had    never 
taken  her  into  your  confidence  and  told 
her  that  you  had  a  twin  brother." 
"True,  true.      I   alone  am  at  fault." 
The  Mother  Superior  opened  the  door 
leading   to    the   altar   where   the   woman 
knelt,  awaiting  to  hear  the  story  from  the 
260 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

nun's  lips.  The  Duke  looked  in;  then 
turned  to  the  retreating  form. 

"I  do  not  see  her." 

"She  whom  you  seek  kneels  at  the 
rail." 

He  peered  in  again,  as  he  replied: 
"Only  a  gray-haired  person  is  there." 

"Go  forward,  and  find  your  wife." 
Then  the  Mother  Superior  passed  through 
the  door,  and  was  lost  to  sight,  as  the  man 
reverently  approached  the  altar. 

Arabella  had  not  mentioned  the  change 
in  her  mother's  hair  for  some  reason,  and 
the  man  did  not  believe  the  figure  before 
him  was  the  one  he  sought. 

"Bella!"  he  whispered. 

That  voice!  The  beads  dropped  from 
her  hand.  The  kneeling  woman  rose, 
and  the  husband  stood  face  to  face  with 
his  wife. 

"Bella!"  he  repeated. 

As  her  husband  came  toward  her,  she 

looked     about.      A     hunted,     despairing 

glance    was   cast    upon    the   man,   as  she 

raised   her  hand   as  if  to  keep  him  back. 

261 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

D 

The  veins  in  her  temples  seemed  ready 
to  burst,  while  her  lips  grew  gray  and 
tightly  compressed.  Her  nostrils  dilated, 
and  she  grasped  the  railing  before  her  for 
support.  Her  body  swayed  forward  and 
back. 

Again  the  man  drew  nearer,  as  he  said, 
"My  darling!" 

She  had  now  placed  both  arms  upon 
the  rail,  and  was  leaning  over  it,  her 
back  turned  to  her  husband.  He  went 
close  to  her,  and  tenderly  touched  her 
head.  She  faced  the  man  she  loved. 

"Why  are  you  here?" 

"My  own  Bella,  to  take  you  to  your 
home." 

"The  one  you  drove  me  from?" 

Again  he  told  the  story  of  his  brother's 
treachery.  He  would  have  taken  her 
to  his  heart,  but  she  drew  back,  as  she 
exclaimed,  "The  hand  that  dealt  the 
blow,  that  robbed  me  of  all  that  life  held 
dear — child,  husband,  and  home — oh, 
I  can  not  bear  it!" 

"Bella,  you  do  not  believe  me.  Is  this 
262 


"She  raised  her  hand  as  if  to  keep  him  back." 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

the  trust  you  vowed  to  place  in  me  the 
last  night  we  spent  at  the  chateau?" 

The  form  was  bowed  to  earth,  and  the 
rigid  lips  refused  to  pray.  The  man 
leaned  over  her,  and  pressed  a  kiss  on  her 
damp  brow  as  her  eyes  were  lifted 
heaven-ward.  The  touch  seemed  to  send 
the  life-blood  through  her  veins,  for  in 
gentle  accents  she  murmured,  "If  I  could 
only  believe  it  all." 

"I  will  prove  it.  Should  I  bring  my 
brother  before  you,  and  he  confess  the 
crime,  will  you  still  doubt  me?" 

A  convulsive  shudder  passed  over  the 
prostrate  woman,  and  from  the  very  agony 
of  her  soul  she  whispered:  "The  scar! 
Could  your  child  have  been  mistaken  in 
that?" 

"My  brother  has  it  also." 

She  wavered  a  moment;  then  said, 
"Bring  the  man  before  me.  But  leave 
me  now.  I  can  bear  no  more.  No,"  as 
he  begged  that  their  reunion  might  take 
place  at  once,  "only  my  eyes  will  sat 
isfy  me  that  all  who  saw  you  could  have 
263 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

been  mistaken,  even  your  daughter. 
Until  to-day  I  doubted  that  the  child  I 
should  see  would  be  mine." 

A  moment  more  and  the  man  was  upon 
his  knees  beside  her.  He  took  from 
the  chancel  the  string  of  beads  she  had 
dropped.  First  pressing  them  to  his  lips, 
he  counted  his  prayers,  after  which  he 
placed  them  in  his  vest.  As  he  parted 
from  his  wife  he  said:  "I  will  arrange  for 
a  meeting  between  you  and  my  brother 
at  once." 

Arabella  was  left  at  the  convent ;  and 
the  Duke,  during  his  lonely  drive  to  his 
palace,  devised  plan  after  plan  by  which 
he  could  persuade  his  brother,  the  Count 
Eugene,  into  the  presence  of  his  wife, 
and  wring  the  facts  from  him.  He  knew 
he  would  go  to  the  world's  end  before  he 
would  make  a  confession  of  his  guilt,  un 
less  forced  by  law,  but  the  disgrace  must 
be  avoided.  A  way  was  being  opened 
by  a  higher  power.  When  he  reached 
the  palace,  he  found  a  messenger  awaiting 
him  with  the  information  that  his  brother 
264 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

was  ill  in  Brussels,  and  that  the  priest  who 
was  with  him  had  sent  for  the  Duke  de  Gra. 
The  horses  that  a  short  time  before 
had  stood  before  the  convent  sleek  and 
shining,  were  again,  within  a  few  hours, 
drawn  up  at  its  portal.  The  white  foam 
on  the  animals  showed  that  they  had 
been  driven  at  their  utmost  speed. 
Within  the  peaceful  walls  of  the  building 
an  earnest  conversation  took  place. 
The  message  that  had  come  from  one  of 
the  priests  at  the  bed-side  of  a  dying 
man  could  not  be  disbelieved,  and  hasty 
preparations  were  made  for  the  departure 
of  Bella.  The  Mother  Superior  sent  a 
trusted  companion  with  her,  and  the  child 
traveled  in  the  coach  at  her  mother's  side, 
while  the  Duke  followed.  Not  once  dur 
ing  the  journey  did  husband  and  wife 
speak.  Indeed,  he  was  unable  to  even 
feast  his  eyes  on  her  face,  so  closely  did 
she  seclude  herself  from  him.  The  child 
dined  with  the  lonely  man,  and  from  her 
lips  he  gathered  information  of  his  loved 
one. 

265 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

o 

At  last  the  goal  of  their  hopes  was 
reached,  and  without  delay  the  travel- 
worn  man  presented  himself  at  the  hotel, 
where  the  Count  Eugene  was  lying  ill. 
The  priest  saw  the  Duke  at  once,  and, 
after  a  hasty  explanation,  he  repaired  to 
Madame's  apartments. 

The  visitor  entered  the  room  of  death. 
The  nurse,  a  Sister  of  Charity,  did  not 
look  up,  and  the  Duke  waited  silently  a 
little  way  from  the  bed  on  which  lay  his 
brother.  He  noted  the  absence  of  the 
sick  man's  wife  and  son,  but  asked  no 
questions  of  the  person  in  charge. 

Presently  the  door  opened,  and  the 
priest  entered,  followed  by  Bella,  leading 
her  child.  The  priest  wrent  to  the  bed 
side  of  the  dying  man. 

"Eugene."  His  eyes  opened.  "Ab 
solution  can  soon  be  given  you.  Those 
whom  you  have  wronged  are  present. 
Confess,  and  die  in  peace." 

The  priest  asked  mother  and  child 
to  come  forward.  As  the  wife  saw  the 
face  of  the  sufferer,  whose  head  was 
266 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

thrown  back  on  the  pillow,  revealing  the 
scar,  she  grasped  Arabella  tightly  as  she 
exclaimed,  "So  exactly  alike!"  and  then 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  In  the 
presence  of  death  she  must  command 
herself.  The  child  drew  close  to  her 
mother,  and  cautiously  glanced  from  be 
hind  the  arm  of  the  startled  woman,  who 
had  raised  it  in  awe  and  terror  as  she 
riveted  her  gaze  first  on  the  one  brother 
and  then  on  the  other.  Then  she  stood 
before  her  husband,  and,  with  a  soft 
cadence  in  her  voice,  she  whispered,  "I 
trust  you  even  unto  death."  Her  head 
rested  on  his  breast. 

The  priest  said  "Silence!"  as  the  sick 
man  spoke. 

"The  hand  of  God  has  pressed  down 
the  measure  with  retribution,  until  it  has 
overflowed.  Not  one  grain  more.  Re 
fusal  of  absolution  to  a  dying  man,  until 
he  made  free  and  full  confession,  has 
brought  the  balance  down  on  your  side. 
The  loss  of  wife  and  child,  and  of  the  hope 
of  eternal  life,  has  been  my  punishment 
267 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

for  the  sin  I  committed.  It  was  for 
those  I  loved  I  did  it.  Jealousy  of  our 
father's  affection  stimulated  me  to  action  ; 
and  the  fiendish  plot  was  conceived  be 
cause  of  family  pride,  and  your  child 
stood  in  the  way  of  mine." 

The  dying  man  became  exhausted,  and 
the  Sister  of  Charity  administered  restor 
atives.  After  a  time  he  spoke  again. 
"From  your  valet,  who  possessed  your 
secret,  I  bought  it.  He  offered  to  show 
me  your  wife's  letters  for  a  price.  I  paid 
it.  I  stole  your  daughter,  and  wrote  the 
letter  that  sent  your  wife  from  her  home. 
I  took  the  child  to  America,  and  on  the 
passage  over  I  was  about  to  strike  her, 
not  for  talking  to  the  Quakeress,  but  be 
cause  she,  too,  had  my  birth-mark, 
mingled  with  plebeian  blood.  I  hated 
her." 

The  Duke  moved  forward.  His  face 
flushed  crimson,  and  the  mother  instinc 
tively  drew  the  child  to  her. 

"This  is  no  time  for  anger.  I  was 
punished  then.  I  fell,  and  broke  my 
268 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

arm,  which  has  been  stiff  ever  since. 
That  night  I  bribed  a  sailor  to  keep  me 
in  the  hatchway.  As  we  were  nearing 
land,  in  the  dense  fog  and  the  excite 
ment  of  putting  into  port  I  made  my 
escape  in  a  small  boat  with  the  man  who 
had  managed  to  keep  me  concealed. 
The  rest  you  know.  Am  I  forgiven?" 

A  painful  quiet  fell  for  an  instant. 
Then  Arabella  went  from  her  mother  to 
the  side  of  the  dying  man.  The  priest 
moved  away.  Taking  the  emaciated 
hand  of  her  uncle,  the  child  raised  it  to 
her  lips. 

"Martha  did  teach  me  to  forgive  thee 
then;  so  I  did,  because  Martha  said  we 
must  just  forgive  before  we  arc  asked,  if 
we  would  be  pleasing  to  the  Lord." 

The  dying  man  whispered  ' '  '  Blessed  are 
the  pure  in  heart,'  "  and  the  priest  ad 
ministered  the  last  rites  of  the  church  as 
he  saw  the  eyes  close  in  death. 

A  few  minutes  later  Bella  softly  mur 
mured,  "Never  again  can  I  doubt  you." 


269 


CHAPTER  XV 

To  the  castle,  the  ancestral  home  of 
the  Gras,  the  Duke  took  his  Duchess. 
The  long  secret  marriage  was  made  pub 
lic,  and  to  the  Quakeress  the  Duke 
wrote:  "I  find  that  you  have  made  our 
daughter  all  that  parents  could  desire. 
She  combines  the  good  and  the  true. 
The  greatest  gift  you  could  have  be 
stowed — an  example  of  purity  and  love — 
was  given  her  by  you.  I  find  that,  even 
in  the  new  world,  she  has  been  well-fitted 
to  fill  her  high  station.  Our  child  is 
loyal  in  her  devotion  to  you,  and  she  is 
already  planning  to  take  her  mother  to 
visit  you." 

To  Arabella,  the  castle,  with  its  stately 
halls,  was  a  beautiful  picture,  and  she 
enjoyed  its  luxury  with .  the  simplicity 
270 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

with  which  she  had  accepted  her  gray 
garb  at  the  farm-house. 

The  pretty  clothes  she  wore,  and  her 
room  filled  with  treasures  that  only 
wealth  could  give  her,  made  her  even 
more  angelic,  and  she  would  say,  "How 
good  God  is  to  give  me  all  these  beauti 
ful  things!  Martha  said,  'When  the  Lord 
doeth  much  for  thee,  child,  he  intends 
thou  shalt  do  for  those  less  fortunate 
than  thou.'  ' 

The  father  and  mother  were  thankful 
that  their  child  had  been  tenderly  cared 
for,  but  now  they  would  be  gratified  to 
have  the  young  girl  forget  it.  After  all, 
these  people  were  Quakers,  and  no  en 
couragement  was  given  the  child  to  talk 
of  her  life  in  America. 

General  LaFayette  was  her  staunch 
friend;  for  he,  too,  had  a  deep  affection 
for  the  land  beyond  the  sea,  and  he  fully 
appreciated  the  trial  that  this  change 
must  be  to  the  little  girl  after  the  freedom 
of  her  life  with  Martha.  He  always 
manifested  a  pleasure  in  conversing  with 
271 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

her  about  Washington ;  and  the  intelli 
gence  of  one  so  young  often  almost 
startled  him.  To  her  parents  he  ex 
plained  that  those  stirring  times  brought 
into  activity  the  latent  powers  of  old  and 
young. 

While  the  Duke  and  Duchess  were 
fully  conscious  of  the  deep  interest  the 
Marquis  had  taken  in  them,  it  was  a 
source  of  annoyance  when  he  drew  their 
little  daughter  to  his  side,  and  told  the 
story  of  her  loyalty  to  Washington.  The 
visit  to  Red  Clay  Creek,  as  it  was  pic 
tured  to  the  Duke,  with  the  scout  carry 
ing  her  across  the  Brandywine,  was  alto 
gether  too  free  for  a  child  of  the  nobility. 
Arabella  as  thoroughly  enjoyed  recalling 
the  fact  of  LaFayette's  being  the  one  to 
take  her  to  Washington,  as  he  did  telling 
of  a  secret  in  an  egg  shell.  He  did  not 
neglect  to  add,  "General  Washington 
never  confided  to  any  person  his  reason 
for  leaving  Red  Clay  Creek  that  night." 

"Marquis,  didst  thou  know  Jack 
Allen?" 

272 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Indeed  I  did.  He  is  Colonel  Allen, 
and  a  brave  man." 

"Oh,  I  mean  the  son  of  Colonel  Al 
len.'  ' 

"Yes,  I  have  seen  him.  His  father 
brought  him  to  my  quarters  once  and 
introduced  him  to  me." 

"I  am  expecting  to  hear  from  the 
Oak,"  Arabella  said.  "Thou  dost  not 
know  him  by  that  name;  I  mean  Jack. 
Does  it  take  very  long,  thinkest  thou,  for 
soldiers'  letters  to  come?" 

"No  longer,"  the  Marquis  replied, 
"than  any  other." 

"I  hope  he  is  not  shot.  Martha's 
letters  come.  Wilt  thou  find  him,  if 
thou  canst,  when  thou  returnest  to  Amer 
ica?" 

"I  will,  indeed,  child,  and  I  will  tell 
General  Washington  he  is  your  friend." 

"Wilt  thou  tell  the  Oak  something  for 
me,  Marquis?" 

"Certainly  I  will,  child." 

"Tell  him  I  love  him  just  the  same  as 
I  did  on  the  farm.  I  wish  thou  couldst 
273 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

take  me  to  America  with  thee,  Marquis;" 
then,  observing  the  displeasure  her  re 
marks  caused  her  parents,  she  added  "if 
papa  and  mamma  would  go,  too." 

"How  long  have  you  been  at  home, 
General?"  asked  the  Duchess. 

"It  is  about  eighteen  months  since  I 
left  America." 

"Then  you  were  here  sometime  before 
Arabella?" 

"Yes,  and  I  have  watched  with  deep 
interest  for  the  Duke's  return,  to  learn 
whether  the  information  I  gave  him 
brought  the  reward  he  hoped  for  in  mak 
ing  so  long  a  journey." 

The  Marquis  left  France  soon  after  this 
visit  to  his  friend,  to  again  take  part  in 
the  conflict  that  was  still  going  on  in  the 
land  of  his  adoption. 


274 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Early  in  March,  1782,  the  Duke  de 
Gra  was  informed  an  American  wished  to 
have  an  interview  with  him.  He  brought 
a  letter  from  the  Marquis  de  LaFayette. 
When  the  foreigner  was  ushered  into  the 
presence  of  the  Duke,  he  gave  the  mili 
tary  salute,  then  handed  the  letter  to  his 
Grace,  who  read  it,  and  said,  "Lieutenant 
Allen,  a  friend  of  the  Marquis,  is  wel 
come"  ;  and,  inviting  him  to  be  seated,  he 
inquired  about  LaFayette,  and  when  he 
expected  to  return  to  France.  Then  he 
asked  about  the  state  of  affairs  in  Amer 
ica;  but  there  was  no  welcome  to  the 
boy  whom  he  had  seen  sitting  on  the  back 
porch  of  Colonel  Allen's  house,  a  few 
months  before,  telling  his  daughter  stories 
of  the  war.  Only  General  LaFayette's 
friend  was  recognized ;  and  the  slight  did 
275 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

not  escape  Jack,  neither  did  the  unspoken 
word  in  regard  to  Martha  or  Hezekiah. 
Arabella  was  not  mentioned.  At  last, 
summoning  up  all  his  courage — for  the 
reserve  of  the  Duke  called  for  it — he 
asked,  "May  I  see  your  daughter?" 

The  Duke  flushed  slightly,  but  said, 
"Certainly;  she  will  be  pleased  to  re 
ceive  you." 

A  messenger  was  dispatched  for  the 
ladies.  As  they  entered  the  apartment 
where  the  men  were,  the  Duchess  was 
presented.  The  child,  upon  seeing  Jack, 
hastened  to  greet  him  with  outstretched 
hands.  Throwing  her  arms  up  on  his 
shoulders,  she  exclaimed,  "Oh,  Oak, 
thou  hast  come !  Oh,  I  am  so  happy !  If 
thou  only  couldst  have  brought  Martha. 
I  love  her  just  the  same ;  and  thee,  too, 
Oak.  But  how  thou  hast  grown." 

This  brought  a  smile  to  the  Duke's 
face,  and  Jack  replied,  "And  what  has 
my  little  friend  been  doing?" 

"Growing  too!"  she  exclaimed.  "Just 
think,  Jack,  I  am  fifteen.  Mamma  says 
276 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

quite  grown  up.      Dost  thou  not  think  I 
am?" 

"Yes,  you  are  taller,  Birdie;"  and  the 
boy  looked  pathetically  into  the  eyes  of 
his  child-friend. 

Taking  Jack  by  the  hand  she  led  him 
to  a  divan.  "Sit  beside  me,  Oak,  and 
tell  me  all  about  Martha,  and  the  boys, 
and  Hezekiah,  and  thy  father,"  she  con 
tinued  without  waiting  for  a  reply. 

Smiling  kindly  upon  her,  he  accepted 
the  proffered  seat.  Perfectly  at  his  ease 
amidst  all  the  pomp  of  his  surroundings, 
he  gave  Martha's  message  of  love;  he 
told  her  of  the  boys  and  Hezekiah ;  and 
then,  when  he  paused,  she  said:  "Seeing 
thee  has  taken  me  back  to  the  east  porch 
at  thy  house.  I  feel  just  as  I  did  when 
thou  didst  take  my  Friend's-bonnet  by 
each  side,  and  didst  look  into  my  eyes 
when  I  told  thee  about  John.  I  want 
thee  to  tell  me  now  about  John." 

"Birdie,  aren't  you  afraid  you  will 
'brew'  if  I  talk  to  you  about  Tories  and 
'wigs?' 

277 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

A  soft,  gentle  laugh  fell  upon  the  air. 

"Oh,  Oak,  dost  thou  remember  all  my 
queer  expressions?  How  I  should  love 
to  see  Martha,  and  hear  her  talk  of  the 
customs  of  the  Friends.  Mamma,  Jack 
always  listened  to  my  brewings  with  such 
patience." 

"Arabella,  Martha  bade  me  ask  you 
when  you  would  visit  her,  the  war  being 
now  practically  over." 

"Papa  and  mamma  will  take  me  soon, 
I  know.  Thou  didst  promise,  didst  thou 
not,  papa?" 

"Yes,  my  child;  and  when  affairs  are 
settled,  you  shall  go  and  see  your  friend." 

"And  Jack,  papa?" 

"Of  course,  and  all  his  brothers." 

"Tell  me  more  about  the  boys,  Jack, 
do." 

"They  will  never  forget  the  little  girl, 
who  lightened  the  gloom  of  their  mother 
less  childhood,"  he  said,  addressing  him 
self  to  the  Duke  and  the  Duchess. 

The  lieutenant,  like  Marquis  de  LaFay- 
ette,  dwelt  on  the  useful,  thoughtful  life 
278 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

of  the  child  while  in  America.  The  par 
ents  sat  deeply  interested  in  the  little 
scene  before  them,  listening,  but  only 
occasionally  taking  part  in  the  conversa 
tion,  for  Arabella  had  so  many  questions 
to  ask  her  old  playmate. 

Seated  beside  the  young  soldier,  she 
tenderly  placed  her  hand  in  his,  as  she 
said,  "Oak,  tell  me  how  thou  earnest  to 
be  a  lieutenant." 

"I  think  because  General  Washington 
learned  I  was  thy  friend,"  he  replied. 

"Now,  tell  me  truly,  or  thou  wilt  not 
be  like  my  Oak  I  left  in  America." 

"The  General  promoted  me,  I  sup 
pose,  because  I  was  always  on  hand  and 
ready  for  anything.  I  went  to  war  to 
fight." 

"What  battle  wert  thou  in  last,  Oak?" 

"The  siege  of  Yorktown." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"Birdie,  the  Duke  de  Gra  and  the 
Duchess  would  tire  of  it." 

Reassured    by   them,    the    young    girl 
said,  "Thou  must,  Oak." 
279 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

''Arabella,  I  can  not  be  graphic  enough 
to  do  honor  to  Washington  and  his  great 
victory  on  that  occasion.  It  took  the 
ringing  bells,  the  excited  multitude  at 
Philadelphia,  to  portray  the  feelings  of 
those  who  waited  and  listened  at  home 
for  the  few,  but  glorious  words,  that  at 
last  rang  out  on  that  early  morning  still 
ness.  It  was  two  o'clock  when  every 
human  ear  seemed  to  have  caught  the 
words,  'Cornwallis  is  taken.'  Arabella, 
the  old  door-keeper  of  Congress — you 
have  seen  him ;  he  who  rang  the  Liberty 
Bell — died  on  hearing  the  glad  tidings. 
Others  swooned  with  joy,  while  prayers 
of  thanksgiving  were  offered  on  all  sides. 
These,  and  many  other  incidents,  are  re 
lated  by  those  who  were  there." 

"But  tell  me,  Oak,  about  your  being 
in  the  battle." 

Jack  hesitated;  but  her  eyes  sparkled 
with  excitement,  as  she  said,  "Please, 
just  try  for  me." 

"When  LaFayette  received  orders  to 
go  to  Virginia,  he  knew  that  it  meant  to 
280 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

get  ready  for  action.  The  outlook  was 
not  encouraging.  We  were  suffering  for 
clothing,  and  shoeless  feet  were  not  the 
least  of  our  troubles;  while  among  the 
ranks  were  many  New  England  men,  and 
they  dreaded  the  climate  of  Virginia  more 
than  they  did  the  battle-field.  LaFayette, 
seeing  their  necessities,  borrowed  two 
thousand  pounds  sterling  on  his  own 
credit  to  purchase  supplies  for  the  army." 

"Oh,  how  good  they  were  to  trust 
him." 

"I  think,  Birdie,  the  goodness  was  on 
the  General's  part.  His  men  were  given 
the  things  they  needed,  and  the  women 
of  Baltimore  made  up  the  garments  for 
us." 

"I  wish  Martha  could  have  helped 
make  thy  clothes." 

"Arabella,"  said  her  father,  "I  am 
deeply  interested  in  the  account  of  this 
victory,  and  when  you  constantly  inter 
rupt  Lieutenant  Allen  I  lose  sight  of 
connected  events.  Just  wait  until  the 
narrative  of  the  seige  of  Yorktown  is  fin- 
281 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

ished,  and  then  ask  your  questions  and 
make  your  comments." 

Jack  would  much  have  preferred  the 
other  method,  but  he  now  began  to  relate 
the  historical  facts. 

"LaFayette  felt  troubled  lest  there 
should  be  desertions,  and,  as  soon  as  he 
reached  the  Susquehanna,  he  gave  every 
man  his  liberty  if  he  wished  it.  Not  one 
deserted  him.  Two  hundred  miles  was  a 
long  march,  but  we  accomplished  it,  and 
on  the  twenty-ninth  of  April,  1781,  we 
reached  Richmond,  and  were  joined  that 
night  by  Steuben  with  militia.  A  plan 
had  been  laid  to  capture  Arnold,  but 
Cornwallis  frustrated  it  by  moving  forward 
from  Guilford  to  Wilmington  in  Virginia. 
At  Petersburg  he  was  reinforced  to  the 
number  of  eighteen  hundred  men — Phil 
lips'  army.  Cornwallis  put  himself  in 
line  to  march  on  Richmond  to  meet  La- 
Fayette,  who  had  only  about  three  thou 
sand  men  against  this  large  army  of  the 
enemy.  Wayne  had  been  expected  to 
join  us,  but  the  desperate  condition  of 
282 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

the  Pennsylvania  line,  in  their  failure  to 
get  supplies,  had  detained  him.  I 
waited  and  watched  anxiously  for  their 
coming,  for  all  four  of  the  boys  were  with 
the  Pennsylvania  troops;  and  then  came 
the  awful  feeling  whether  we  should 
ever  see  each  other  again.  It  seemed 
almost  impossible  to  believe  we  could  all 
be  spared ;  but  we  were,  and  not  one  of 
us  boys  carries  a  scar,  but  my  father  has 
been  wounded.  We  will  move  on  now 
to  Yorktown ;  for  unless  I  go  by  quick 
stages,  I  shall  be  tempted  to  take  you 
through  every  swamp  and  every  encoun 
ter,  large  and  small,  on  the  long  march 
that  brought  us  to  where  victory  awaited 
us.  Cornwallis  was  on  a  point  of  land 
called  Gloucester.  It  projects  into  the 
river,  making  its  width  only  a  mile. 
Yorktown  is  a  small  village  situated  on  a 
high  bank,  and  a  long  peninsula  separ 
ates  the  York  from  the  James  river  there. 
No  pains  had  been  spared  to  make  secure 
the  ground  occupied  by  Cornwallis.  It 
was  well  for  us  that  the  Chesapeake  was 
283 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

entered  by  Count  de  Grasse,  with  twenty- 
eight  ships,  and  added  to  this  nearly  four 
thousand  men.  We  managed  to  guard 
York  river;  indeed  every  way  of  escape 
was  closed  around  Cornwallis.  Septem 
ber  2Qth  was  spent  in  investigations 
as  to  the  best  points  for  attack.  The 
approaches  were  decided  upon,  and  your 
countrymen  begged  that  Washington — 
who  had  already  reached  Virginia,  I  have 
neglected  to  tell  you — would  permit  them 
to  commence  an  attack  against  the  outer 
posts  of  the  enemy.  October  6th — 
eventful  night ! — trenches  were  opened 
not  far  from  Cornwallis ;  and  only  a  few 
days  elapsed  before  the  redoubts  were 
ready,  and  cannon  were  used  to  demolish 
the  enemy's  defenses.  Then  began  the 
magnificent  display  of  battle."  The 
young  man  forgot  everything  as  his  vivid 
imagination  pictured  the  burning  British 
ships,  and  the  French,  with  their  batter 
ies,  and  the  absolute  certainty  with  which 
each  man  moved.  "Then  the  British 
took  possession  of  some  French  and 
284 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

American  artillery ;  but,  as  the  boys  on 
guard  in  the  trenches  advanced,  they 
beat  a  very  hasty  retreat.  Well,  at  last, 
after  the  many  struggles  of  those  anxious 
days,  Cornwallis  looked  about  for  a 
means  of  escape.  A  violent  storm  came 
up,  which  increased  his  difficulties,  and  he 
found  himself  shut  in  on  all  sides.  On 
the  eighteenth  he  requested  that  articles 
of  capitulation  be  put  into  form  by  a 
commission.  To  this  Washington  con 
sented  ;  and  on  the  nineteenth  the 
articles  were  signed,  and  Cornwallis,  with 
the  British  army,  marched  out  as  prison 
ers  of  war." 

Here  the  Duke  inquired  who  were  the 
commissioners. 

"Colonel  Laurens  and  the  Viscount 
Noailles. " 

"The  surrender  must  have  been  a  re 
markable  sight,"  continued  the  Duke. 

"It    was   indeed,    your   Grace.      Your 

countrymen    were,    by    no    means,    the 

least  of  the   imposing  spectacle,  as  they 

stood    drawn    up    on    the    left    side    of 

285 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

the  road,  and  the  Americans  on  the 
right." 

"Where  was  George  Washington, 
Oak?" 

' '  Washington  was  with  his  staff,  as  was 
Rochambeau,  at  the  head  of  the  army. 
Then  the  British  walked  between  the 
lines." 

"How  many  were  there?"  questioned 
the  Duke. 

"About  seven  thousand,  sir." 

"How  did  they  act,  Oak?" 

"They  were  very  sullen,  Birdie,  and 
grounded  arms  with  so  much  spirit  that 
they  had  to  be  called  to  order.  They 
moved  slowly,  as  they  carried  their  cased 
colors  before  the  victorious  army  looking 
on  at  their  defeat.  The  officers  were 
more  pronounced  in  their  humiliation. 
Mortification  seemed  indelibly  stamped 
on  their  faces." 

"Where  was  Cornwallis,  to  whom  I 
gave  special  attention?"  asked  Arabella. 

"He  was  not  to  be  seen." 

"Perhaps  he  was  hiding  under  some 
286 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

bed.  Howe  seemed  to  think  it  a  good 
place,  when  he  looked  under  mine." 

"Where  he  was,"  replied  Jack,  "I  can 
not  tell,  but  he  sent  his  sword  by  Gen 
eral  O'Hara.  The  Lutheran  church  was 
the  scene  of  prayerful  rejoicing  after  the 
news  reached  Philadelphia.  Congress 
soon  proclaimed  that  the  thirteenth  of 
December  should  be  observed  by  prayer 
and  thanksgiving  through  all  the  United 
States.  Cornwallis  had  stated,  in  the  be 
ginning  of  the  Virginia  campaign,  in 
speaking  of  LaFayette,  'The  boy  cannot 
escape  me,'  but  you  see  he  did." 

Oak,  dost  thou  not  think  December 
1 3th  ought  to  be  observed  always?" 

"Yes,  Birdie,  I  do;  and  you  and  I  will 
observe  it.  Do  you  agree  to  this?" 

"Yes,  Oak;  anything  for  our  new 
country  and  for  thee." 

The  Duke  rose  abruptly,  and  congratu 
lated  the  soldier  on  the  victory;  but 
his  words  seemed  meaningless  to  the 
young  patriot.  There  was  a  lack  of  cor 
diality  in  his  manner,  and  Jack  felt  it. 
287 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

He  divined  the  true  cause,  and,  with  a 
brave  spirit,  he  determined  not  to  "case 
colors"  until  forced  to.  He  was  too 
much  the  gentleman  to  show  that  he  was 
conscious  of  the  Duke's  coldness,  neither 
could  he  pain  Arabella  by  allowing  her  to 
see  it. 

"You  have  never  been  in  America,  I 
believe?"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to 
the  Duchess. 

"No,  Lieutenant,  I  am  looking  forward 
to  that  pleasure,  as  we  have  promised 
our  daughter  to  take  her  over." 

The  Duke  remarked,  "I  think  it  is  not 
likely  that  we  shall  go  for  some  time." 

"Papa,"  replied  the  young  girl,  "thou 
hast  promised  Martha  it  should  be  as 
soon  as  the  war  closed." 

"Yes,  my  child;  but  America  will  be 
in  a  disturbed  condition  for  some  time, 
and  foreigners  had  better  wait  until  the 
affairs  of  the  country  are  fully  settled." 

"Duke  de  Gra,  did  you  ever  meet  with 
any    inconveniences    or    ill-treatment    in 
your  visit  to  America?" 
288 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"No,  not  particularly  so.  The  effects 
that  naturally  follow  war  are  not  inviting, 
however." 

"Papa,  I  would  feel  so  very,  very  bad, 
if  I  thought  Martha  would  have  to  be 
disappointed.  She  always  did  just  as  she 
promised  me;  and  when  John  wanted  me 
given  to  the  Puritans,  Friend  Hezekiah 
just  said,  'My  word  is  passed  to  Martha, 
that  she  may  keep  the  child ;  and  it  must 
be  so.'  ' 

"That  is  all  right;  we  will  go  as  soon 
as  it  seems  best." 

Jack  rose  to  depart. 

"How  long  do  you  expect  to  remain 
in  Paris?"  asked  the  Duke  of  his  guest. 

"I  came  principally  to  keep  my  word 
to  Arabella  that,  if  I  survived  the  war, 
the  first  thing  I  did  would  be  to  find  her. 
As  my  mission  seems  to  have  been  ful 
filled,  and,  as  I  do  not  wish  to  intrude 
myself  upon  you,  I  shall  leave  Paris 
shortly." 

Before     the    Duke     could    reply,    his 
daughter  exclaimed: 
289 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Oh,  Oak,  don't  go  so  soon,  please 
don't!  It  makes  me  feel  so  sad  to  have 
you  speak  of  leaving  me. ' '  Then  ;  turning 
to  her  father:  "Wilt  thou  not  ask  Jack  to 
remain  at  the  castle  as  your  guest?" 

The  Duke  flushed. 

"If  Lieutenant  Allen  will  be  pleased 
to  remain"- 

"Duke  de  Gra,  I  prefer  not  to  annoy 
you  with  entertaining  strangers  in  whom 
you  can  have  no  interest.  With  your 
permission,  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  Ara 
bella  again  before  I  leave." 

' '  Oh,  Jack ! ' '  And  the  young  girl  burst 
into  tears. 

"There,  there,  dear  child,"  said  her 
father.  "Don't  act  foolishly.  Of  course 
the  Lieutenant  will  come  and  see  us  be 
fore  he  leaves." 

Jack  bit  his  lip  to  repress  the  words  he 
wanted  to  speak.  Extending  his  hand 
to  his  youthful  friend,  and  bidding  her 
parents  a  dignified  farewell,  he  was  ush 
ered  out  of  the  castle. 

Arabella  hastened  to  her  room ;  and  an 
290 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

hour  later  her   mother  found  her  there, 
weeping  violently. 

"My  darling  child,  why  these  tears?" 

"Mamma,  if  I  had  known  that  in  this 

castle  I  could  not  love  Martha  and  Oak, 

and  have  them  with  me,  I  don't  believe  I 

could  have  come." 

"My  child!  Not  to  see  me?" 
"Mamma,  I  did  not  know  thee.  It 
was  like  a  dream,  my  life  at  the  chateau. 
Thou  couldst  have  come  to  see  me;  and 
they  would  have  been  so  good  to  thee. 
The  best  room  would  have  been  thine, 
and  Martha  would  have  said,  'Wee  one, 
thou  must  ask  about  all  thy  mother's 
people.'  And  just  think  of  poor  Jack. 
Papa  did  not  seem  pleased  to  have  me 
talk  to  him.  I  think-  it  is  only  in  Amer 
ica  that  people  are  not  afraid  to  be  kind 
to  every  one." 

' '  My  child,  your  life  is  greatly  changed. 
Your  father  is  a  nobleman.  Lieutenant 
Allen  cannot  appreciate  it,  and  it  will 
be  some  time  before  you  will  compre 
hend  all  it  means." 

291 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Is  it  not  something  like  this  that  thou 
dost  just  hint  at :  that  Jack  is  beneath  me 
in  station?" 

"Well,  my  darling  little  girl,  that  is 
what  your  father  feels." 

"Mamma,  I  thought  that  twin  of 
papa's  said  something  of  that  sort  about 
the  plebeian  blood  in  my  veins.  Dost 
thou  suppose  it  is  that  that  makes  me  love 
America?" 

The  Duchess  colored. 

"Never  mind,  my  daughter;  do  not  let 
us  talk  of  these  things.  We  must  do 
just  as  your  dear  father  requests,  and  all 
will  be  well." 

"If  thou  hadst  urged  papa  to  bring 
thee  here  the  first  thing,  I  might  never 
have  been  lost." 

"Arabella,  you  owe  your  father  obedi 
ence  first  of  all." 

"Yes,  I  know  Martha  said  so  when  she 
told  me  I  must  go.  Now  he  shall  see 
that  the  lessons  taught  me  in  that  far-off 
land  were  the  best  and  truest  I  could 
have  learned.  I  am  so  sorry  I  can 
292 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

not  love  my  home  in  this  castle  as  much 
as  I  did  the  fields  and  the  wild  flowers, 
the  birds  and  the  lowing  of  the  cattle, 
the  little  brook  back  of  Hezekiah's  house, 
and  the  old  well  by  Jack's  porch,  that 
had  the  'iron-bound  bucket.'  Oh!  how  I 
should  love  to  have  Jack  give  me  a  drink 
of  that  clear,  sparkling  water  from  the 
tin-cup  that  hung  by  the  curb." 

The  child  had  risen  and  pushed  back 
the  curls  that  clustered  about  her  face. 
She  touched  her  beautiful  gown,  as  she 
added,  "And,  mamma,  truly  I  would 
love  to  see  my  gray  Quaker  dress,  and 
Martha  and  Jack,  just  like  I  used  to 
when  I  'brewed.' 

The  Duchess  listened  in  silence,  deeply 
impressed  with  her  daughter's  earnest 
ness. 

"Darling,  soon  papa  will  take  you  to 
see  all  this  again.  Only  be  happy  while 
you  wait." 

"How  can  I,  with  my  kind,  good  Oak 
in  Paris,  and  I  may  not  see  him  again?" 

"Here  in  your  own  country  things  are 
293 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

so  different.  You  are  too  young  to  have 
company."  Drawing  a  deep  sigh,  Ara 
bella  went  to  a  window  and  stood  gazing 
out.  Tears  fell  from  her  eyes  because 
she  could  not  see  Jack,  and  she  said,  in  a 
sobbing  voice,  "I  wish  I  were  grown  up. " 

That  evening  her  father  and  mother 
talked  long  and  earnestly.  The  Duchess 
repeated  to  her  husband  her  conversation 
with  the  child,  and  he  listened  attentively 
to  the  end;  then  said:  "The  sooner  all 
ideas  of  America  are  banished  from  her 
mind  the  better.  She  must  forget  all  of 
these  people.  I  deem  it  a  misfortune 
that  this  Jack  Allen  has  come  over  here. 
I  hope  his  stay  will  be  short,  but  I  sup 
pose  we  must  make  the  best  of  it." 

Arabella  looked  and  watched  in  vain 
for  Jack.  A  week  had  passed  and 
no  word.  She  began  to  think  he  had 
left  without  seeing  her.  The  sadness  in 
her  face  troubled  her  mother,  and  the 
Duke  said:  "This  young  man  has  more 
pride  than  I  supposed.  These  Ameri 
cans  are  very  determined,  though,  and  I 
294 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

shall  feel  better  satisfied  to  have  him 
across  the  water." 

In  the  meantime,  Jack  had  been  look 
ing  about  the  city,  and  each  day  found 
him  walking  around  the  castle;  but  his 
cool  reception  there  had  made  him  re 
solve  to  enter  the  house  but  once 
before  leaving  the  country,  and  that  to 
see  his  young  friend  and  say  good-bye. 
The  Duke's  treatment  of  him  had  been  a 
great  surprise.  "If  I  were  a  nobleman  it 
would  be  different,"  he  had  said,  as  he 
left  the  castle.  He  had  not  thought  of 
being  refused  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
Arabella,  and  he  was  greatly  chagrined 
at  their  treatment  after  his  long  journey. 
He  bore  it  like  a  soldier.  He  was  too 
honorable  to  make  any  effort  to  see  her 
without  her  parents'  knowledge.  So,  not 
until  the  day  he  was  to  leave  for  America 
did  he  again  present  himself  at  the  castle. 

The   Duke   and   Duchess  were  not  at 

home  when  he  called,  and  the  companion 

in    attendance    upon    Arabella    did    not 

speak  English,   so  the  child  had  perfect 

295 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

freedom,  as  of  old,  to  talk  to  Jack. 
Loving  messages  were  sent  to  the  boys, 
and  Colonel  Allen  was  remembered. 

"Oh,  Oak,  just  tell  Martha  I  do  love 
her,  and  I  want  to  see  her  so  much." 

Then  she  wrote  a  little  note,  saying: 
"Dear  Martha,  do  thou  not  go  to  John, 
for  I  will  soon  return  to  thee  and  the 
Oak.  Truly  I  will,  Martha;  so  do  thou 
and  the  Oak  wait  for  me." 

She  handed  the  paper  on  which  she 
had  written  to  him.  "Give  it  to  Martha. 
Do  not  forget  Hezekiah,  the  dear  old 
man!  He  was  so  kind  to  me.  I  did  not 
realize  it  all  when  I  was  there."  Then 
going  to  the  little  work-basket  Madame 
had,  she  took  from  it  a  pair  of  scissors. 

"Oak,  just  take  a  curl  from  my  head. 
It  is  all  I  can  give  thee  to  keep,  until  I 
see  you  in  America. " 

It  was  cut,  to  her  attendant's  horror; 
but  she  was  too  late  to  prevent  it.  Jack, 
seeing  her  displeasure,  thought  it  time  to 
leave.  Arabella  utterly  refused  any  form 
of  good-bye. 

296 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"No,  Oak,  just  let  us  be  Friends 
about  it.  I  do  not  like  to  treat  thee  as  if 
thou  wert  not  coming  back  soon.  Mar 
tha's  way  was  so  happy;  let  us  try  it." 
And  so  Jack  went  out  from  the  castle 
without  a  word  of  farewell,  but  the  tear 
drops  on  her  youthful  cheeks  spoke  it  all, 
and  the  soldier  brushed  something  like 
mist  from  his  own  eyes  as  he  went  down 
the  steps.  His  visit  had  not  been  what 
he  had  expected,  and  the  disappointment 
of  it  followed  him  to  the  farm. 

He  dreaded  to  see  the  Quakeress,  yet 
knew  he  must ;  so  he  walked  slowly  across 
the  lots,  and,  through  the  window, 
watched  her.  In  the  living-room  of  the 
house  on  Hezekiah's  farm,  Martha  sat 
spinning.  For  a  moment  she  paused, 
and  sighed,  as  a  tear  fell  from  her  eye. 
Her  father  had  gone  to  Daniel's,  and, 
being  alone,  the  Quakeress  began  speak 
ing  her  thoughts  aloud. 

"I  wish  the  child  might  be  so  moved 
that  she  would  care  to  come  to  me  again. 
It  was  a  great  trial  to  give  her  up.  I 
297 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

should  be  pleased  to  know  if  she  ever 
thinks  of  me  now.  How  I  love  the  wee 
one!" 

Just  then  a  step  sounded  on  the  porch, 
a  rap  followed,  and  to  Martha's  "Come 
in,"  Jack  Allen  appeared.  She  rose 
from  her  chair  as  she  exclaimed,  "Didst 
thou  see  Arabella?" 

"Yes,  indeed.  And  she  sent  you  this 
letter;"  and  he  handed  her  the  little  note, 
written  so  hastily. 

Martha  read  it,  and  her  eyes  again 
filled  with  tears,  as  she  said,  "She  still 
loves  thee  and  me;"  and  she  gave  it 
to  him  to  read.  His  face  lighted  up ; 
but  the  next  moment  a  great  sadness 
came  into  it  as  he  told  the  Quakeress  of 
the  splendor  of  the  child's  home;  and 
then  he  added:  "But  she  loves  thy  cus 
toms;"  and  he  repeated  how  she  kept  the 
Quaker  manner  of  speech. 

Jack  lingered  long,  talking  of  Arabella 

and   making  known    his    plans ;   how    he 

intended  to  leave  the  farm  and  go  to  the 

city  to  live.      His  father,  he  said,  offered 

298 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

to  help  him  get  a  start  in  the  world.  He 
meant  to  be  a  lawyer,  and,  some  time,  a 
statesman,  he  hoped.  He  left  at  a  late 
hour  with  the  Quakeress'  encouragement 
ringing  in  his  ears. 

As  time  passed,  Martha  was  more 
cheerful ;  for  she  now  waited  and  watched 
for  the  beloved  child.  She  had  been  re 
assured  that  she  was  the  same  earnest, 
faithful  little  friend,  and  she  knew  she 
would  surely  see  her.  Jack  worked  with 
a  will ;  but  his  heart  grew  faint  at  times 
when  he  remembered  how  difficult  it 
would  be  for  Arabella  to  persuade  her 
father  to  bring  her  to  America. 


299 


CHAPTER    XVII 

The  Duke,  the  Duchess,  and  Arabella 
were  at  the  chateau,  and  there  was  now  a 
new  member  of  the  family — a  little  sister. 
She  was  almost  three  years  old.  As  we 
again  meet  them,  the  family  are  sitting 
in  the  rose-garden,  near  the  path  where 
the  Duchess  had  watched  her  husband, 
as  he  rode  away  eleven  years  before. 

"Raoul,  this  is  the  place  most  dear  to 
me  of  all.  I  could  spend  my  life  here  in 
perfect  content." 

Before  the  Duke  had  time  to  reply, 
Arabella  said:  "But  thou  canst  not, 
mamma,  for  thou  must  go  to  America 
this  year."  Then  addressing  her  father, 
she  asked,  "When  are  we  going?" 

He  would  have  evaded  the  question, 
but  his  daughter,  now  a  queenly-looking 
girl  of  eighteen,  said,  "I  have  waited 
300 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

so  patiently,  for  thee  to  keep  thy  prom 
ise,  and  now,  unless  thou  dost  take  me,  I 
must  go  alone." 

''Arabella!"  her  father  spoke  her 
name  in  decided  tones. 

She  placed  her  arm  about  his  neck. 

"Papa,  dear,  didst  thou  not  promise 
to  take  me  back?" 

"I  expect  to  do  so,  some  time." 

"The  some  time  has  come  now." 

"Why  now,  my  child?" 

"Because  I  must  go.  I  have  thy 
promise.  I  kept  mine,  and  have  waited 
so  long.  Thou  wouldst  not  have  me 
think  my  father  would  fail  to  keep  his 
promise  to  me?"  Then  her  feelings 
overcame  her,  and  she  could  not  speak; 
so  taking  her  baby  sister  by  the  hand, 
she  led  her  down  the  path,  and  the  par 
ents,  left  alone,  discussed  seriously  the 
question — when  to  cross  the  ocean.  It 
was  finally  determined  the  wise  thing 
would  be  to  yield  to  their  daughter's  en 
treaties  and  sail  for  America  on  the  next 
vessel  going  over. 

301 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

The  voyage  proved  a  delightful  one  to 
all,  and  Arabella's  spirits  seemed  to  rise 
each  day,  as  she  found  herself  nearer 
Hezekiah's.  When  Philadelphia  was 
reached,  she  begged  her  father  to  take 
her  at  once  to  the  farm ;  which  he  did. 

Up  the  gravel  path  ran  the  youthful 
visitor,  snatching  a  flower  as  she  passed 
them,  on  to  the  kitchen  porch,  and  through 
the  open  door  into  the  house,  exclaiming. 

"Martha!  dear,  dear,  Martha!" 

The  Quakeress  threw  down  her  broom. 

"It  is  thou,  my  wee  one!  Thou  hast 
come  back  to  me!"  and  the  two  were 
locked  in  each  other's  arms.  Tears  of 
joy  were  mingled,  as  Martha  held  that 
curly  head  against  her  cheek. 

"Thou  hast  grown  so.  Thou  art  as  tall 
now  as  thy  Martha.  But  who  brought 
thee?" 

"Papa  is  coming.  Tell  me  quick;  is 
the  Oak  at  home?" 

"Yes,  he  is,  just  to  have  a  few  days 
with  the  boys.  He  lives  in  the  city 
now." 

302 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Papa,  here  is  Martha." 

The  Quakeress  greeted  the  Duke,  say 
ing,  "Thou  hast  been  true  to  thy  word." 

Hezekiah  hastened  in  to  see  whom  the 
carriage  from  the  city  had  brought,  and 
he  said  he  was  pleased  to  have  the  child 
back  once  more. 

All  the  time  the  hostess  was  preparing 
dinner  Arabella  assisted  her.  She  went 
to  the  accustomed  place,  and  took  the 
cloth  for  the  table,  and  the  Quakeress 
said,  "Thy  high  position  hast  not  harmed 
thee." 

"Martha,    tlwu  didst  bend  the  twig." 

The  Duke  finished  his  simple  dinner, 
and  then  reminded  his  daughter  they  had 
a  long  drive  before  them. 

"Thou  wouldst  not  take  the  child  from 
me  so  soon,  I  hope,"  Martha  said,  ad 
dressing  the  Duke. 

"She  can  come  over  again,"  he  re 
plied. 

"I  have  not  had  time  to  unpack  Mar 
tha's  new  bonnet  and  gown,  with  the 
long  cape,  I  brought  her;  or  show  her 
303 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

my  picture  to  hang  on  the  wall  in  the 
living-room.  Then,  too,  papa,  I  must 
sleep  in  my  bed  to-night  and  just  be  a 
Friend  once  more.  Please  say  I  may. 
Go  back,  and  leave  me  here  with  Martha. 
She  took  care  of  me  once;  she  can 
again." 

The  Duke  did  not  reply. 

"I  must  stay.  I  shall  be  sick  if  I  go 
back;  I  am  sure  I  shall.  Thou  canst 
explain  to  mamma."  At  last  she  pre 
vailed  upon  her  father  to  leave  her  a  few 
days  with  the  Quakeress;  and  as  he  drove 
away,  his  daughter  turned  to  Martha. 
''Now,  I  am  all  thine" — then  she  hesi 
tated — "and  the  Oak's." 

The  Quakeress  took  her  face  in  her 
hands,  as  of  old,  and  kissed  the  child. 

Arrayed  in  a  gray  dress  and  bonnet, 
Arabella  started  for  Jack's  farm.  When 
she  was  near  enough  to  see  him  in  the 
yard,  she  was  tempted  to  call  "Oak!" 
but  she  wanted  to  surprise  him.  Then 
he  looked  across  the  lot,  and  saw  a  Quak 
eress  coming.  He  thought  it  was  Mar- 
304 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

tha,  and  believed  she  brought  him  news 
of  Arabella.  He  started  toward  her. 

"Oh,  Oak!" 

With  a  few  long  strides  he  covered  the 
ground  between  them,  and  took  the  gray 
bonnet  by  the  sides. 

"My  Birdie!" 

Then  they  sat  down  on  the  back  porch, 
and  all  the  boys  came  out,  and  Colonel 
Allen,  and  Jack  gave  her  a  drink  from 
the  tin  cup  to  the  delight  of  all. 

"Oak,  wilt  thou  please  remember  I  am 
just  the  very  same  Friend  I  was  when  I 
sat  on  this  porch  several  years  ago  and 
'brewed.'  ' 

"I  remember  it.  There  is  no  trouble 
about  that." 

They  sat  and  visited,  until  the  fair 
young  girl  said,  "It  is  'most  dark!  I 
must  go." 

So  they  walked  to  Hezekiah's  farm, 
talking  of  their  childhood  days. 

Jack  said:  "Birdie,  could  anything 
tempt  you  to  live  in  America?" 

"I  am  going  to  live  in  America,  Jack." 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

"Who  said  so,  Arabella?" 

"I  did;  but  I  am  'brewing'  as  of  old. 
Just  wait  and  see." 

Martha  asked  him  in  when  they  reached 
the  house,  and  the  two  young  people 
spent  the  evening  together — Hezekiah 
in  his  accustomed  corner  asleep,  and 
Martha  just  going  round  about  the 
rooms,  while  Jack  and  Arabella  built  cas 
tles  in  American  air. 

The  following  day  the  Duchess  drove 
over  with  the  Duke  and  the  little  sister. 

There  was  not  that  unison  of  thought, 
the  Quakeress  said  in  speaking  of  the 
visit,  that  she  could  have  hoped  for  with 
the  child's  mother;  and,  in  fact,  a  cool 
ness  had  penetrated  the  heart  of  the 
Duchess  toward  the  Quakeress,  who  she 
felt  had  captured  her  daughter's  warmest 
affection.  The  words  of  appreciation  she 
spoke  to  Martha  seemed  cold  and  formal, 
and  she  clothed  herself  with  dignity  as 
with  an  armor. 

All  this  tried  Arabella  sorely;  and, 
when  to  the  kind  and  hospitable  invita- 
306 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

tion  to  remain,  her  mother  made  some 
excuse  to  return  to  Philadelphia,  her 
daughter  felt  a  wrong  had  been  done  her 
dear  friends.  She  could  not  understand 
the  mother  who  was  not  willing  that  she 
might  share  her  love  with  one  who  had 
been  so  much  to  her. 

The  time  had  come  for  the  Duke  and 
his  family  to  leave  for  France,  and  he 
was  making  preparations  for  it.  Arabel 
la's  lips  were  firmly  closed,  and  she  only 
spoke  when  obliged  to.  Her  eyes  had 
a  far-away  look.  She  had  something 
to  say,  she  announced  a  few  days  before 
the  family  were  to  sail. 

"My  dear  parents,  I  cannot  go  back 
to  France  with  you." 

"Not  go  back  ?"  repeated  her  father 
and  mother  in  one  breath." 

"No,  I  cannot." 

"Do  you,  then,"  asked  her  mother, 
"love  this  Martha  better  than  me?" 

"Mamma,  thou  hast  my  little  sister  and 
papa.       Truly    I     am     so    homesick    in 
France,  I  cannot  live  there." 
307 


A  Daughter  of  Two  Nations 

To  all  remonstrances  Arabella  turned 
a  deaf  ear. 

"I  cannot  go  papa.  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  forego  everything  that  wealth 
can  give.  I  love  America.  I  have 
loved  it  ever  since  I  took  the  eggs  and 
went  to  General  Washington  to  help  save 
it.  Do  not  feel  badly,  because  thou 
canst  come  and  see  me,  but  I  must 
stay." 

"Why?"  asked  the  Duke. 

"I  want  Martha." 

"Is  that  all  my  child?" 

"Not  quite." 

"Is  it  Hezekiah?"  asked  her  father. 

Arabella  smiled. 

"No,  papa,  not  Hezekiah,  although  he 
is  very  kind  to  me." 

"Is  it  only  Martha?" 

"And  the  Oak,"  replied  the  daughter. 

"I  will  take  Jack  to  France,"  said  the 
Duke. 

"No,  papa,  he  wants  America,  that  he 
fought  for,  and  me  too" 
THE    END. 

308 


DC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACIL 


A     000718438     5 


